


Simulacra

by Nemainofthewater



Series: Rip Week 2019 [6]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: (but no one is letting him get away with this anymore), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Gideon is thankful to have backup, Hurt/Comfort, Mother Hen Leonard Snart, Rip Hunter's self-Destructive tendencies, Rip Week 2019, RipFic, Secrets, Swearing, Team Bonding, Team as Family, season 1 rewrite, the vanishing point, time masters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-28 09:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19391038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: “Right,” he said, running his hands though his hair, “Long story short, although mentally, I have lived approximately 29 years, my physical body is that of a 17-year-old. I use, used, a Simulacrum on missions to make it look as if I’m slightly older as people don’t generally take to being ordered around by a teenager. Any questions?”The Legends learn something about Rip and the Time masters that brings them closer as a family and a team and that has repercussions for the future.





	1. From the mouth of babes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Rip Appreciation Week 2019-Day 5: Fix-it.
> 
> Thank you to Scarhoax and ThebanSacredBand who had to honestly put up with a lot of whining about how long it was getting, me sending a lot of excerpts to and general monologuing 😅
> 
> Once I passed 16,000 words I made the general executive decision to stop there and split it into chapters so I would have something for Rip Week... I hope you enjoy!
> 
> This was based on a few things: 
> 
> 1\. The Vanishing Point if outside of time, so logically time should not pass and people should not age there  
> 2\. The Time Masters are more like a cult than anything
> 
> I messed with the timeline slightly in terms of ages for my own gain.

“We possess no army.”

“And I’m not asking for one. Just a single timeship and your permission to change history. Stop Vandal Savage. Please: I’m appealing to you not as Time Masters but as human beings.”

They gazed down at him, the lines written on their faces a testament to their experience and knowledge. One day, decades or even centuries from now, Rip would have the same wisdom. But today, he was an arrogant little toe-rag, irritating them as they sit high in their ivory towers. And he was rather glad of it.

“No,” Declan said, “And you would be wise not to push this Captain Hunter. Now,” he said as the entire Council rose in unison, “I believe that you have a medical examination that you have been putting off. No doubt we will discover some fascinating things.”

Rip gave a short, perfunctory bow. Then spun on his heal and strode quickly through the corridors. He had already packed what few belongings he kept in his ‘official’ quarters at the Vanishing Point: most of his truly valued belongings already had a home either on the Waverider or at his house in London. He kept exactly enough personal items to keep up appearances and nothing more.

At the last moment, he took at left turn at the intersection of corridors 26B and 78F, heading distinctly away from the infirmary and toward the hanger, hurrying onto the Waverider before anyone could stop him.

“Well, that went as expected,” Rip Hunter said, striding back onto his ship, the familiar feeling of home engulfing him like a warm blanket.

“Terribly then?” Gideon said.

“The Council has no idea of the true dangers we face,” Rip said, “They haven’t left the Vanishing Point in decades and it shows. No, I’m afraid we’re going to have to do this ourselves.”

“You and I against the world Captain. Business as usual.”

“You’re the only one that I trust Gideon,” Rip said, “The only person who’s always been there for me. You’re my family. As much as Miranda and Jonas are. And I’m so very thankful that you’re here.”

“Then Captain,” Gideon said, “As a member of your family, let me say… It’s time to save Miranda and Jonas. And the world.”

“And the world,” Rip agreed with a short laugh. “Gideon? Plot a course to Egypt, 1700 B.C. Let’s remove Vandal Savage from history.”

#

“Well, that could have turned out better,” Rip said, wearily dusting the sand off his clothes and stumbling back onto the ship.

“Captain,” Gideon said, “When you didn’t return after four weeks, I began to fear the worst.”

“You know me,” Rip said, “Nothing can keep me down for long. I just had a slight…setback.”

To his shame Rip felt himself begin to tremble, weeks of stress and fear and guilt over his inability to avenge his family’s murder finally catching up to him. The lack of food probably didn’t help either.

“Captain,” Gideon said, voice sharp, “Report to the medbay immediately so that I can assess the damage.”

“What’s the point?” Rip said, “I failed Gideon. I had him- I had him! And I hesitated. My family’s blood is on my hands.”

“Captain,” Gideon repeated, “Report to the medbay. I believe you are in shock.”

“I. I can’t. I can’t I can’t I-”

“ _Now_ Captain.”

Somehow, and to this day Rip still didn’t know how, he made it to the medbay, managed to snap the medical bracelet around his wrist, and then lay back slumped against the bed, letting Gideon take care of him.

“I failed them,” he muttered, “I failed them…”

“Shhh,” said Gideon, “I’m here. I’m here for you Captain. Listen to my voice: I will always be here for you.”

Rip took one more shuddering breath, then fell silent. He had to hold himself together: he had no time to properly mourn. He would find another way to defeat Savage, and he would succeed. No more weakness.

“Captain,” Gideon said after a moment, “I can’t help but notice that you are no longer wearing your Simulacrum.”

Rip sighed. “No,” he said shortly, “I am not.”

There was a pointed pause.

Rip swallowed.

“Unfortunately, they aren’t really meant to for long term use,” he said quietly, “Neither are they meant for close scrutiny. When an individual’s beard and hair both fail to grow, questions are asked. People tend to take a closer look.”

“And is that all Savage did?” Gideon asked, her voice soft, “Look?”

“Of course,” Rip agreed, voice empty, “All he did was look.”

“Captain-”

“I don’t want to discuss it any further Gideon,” Rip snapped. He took a deep breath and got to his feet, disconnecting the medical cuff.

“Now,” he said, “Plot a course to the United States, 2016. Star City.”

“Captain, you are still extremely calorically deficient,” Gideon said, “You need to rest-”

“I can rest when I’m dead,” Rip said. “I’ll eat later. Plot the course Gideon. Now.”

A surly pause, and then: “Yes Captain.”

No matter. She’d get over it eventually. And Rip had more important things to worry about than a few skipped meals.

#

Of course, after recruiting the Legends he never really seemed to get time to eat that meal. On the other hand, he did manage to find his spare Simulacrum which was a relief: he dreaded to think how he would fare without it. He probably would have been treated with even less respect by his recruits, if such a thing were possible.

They were rather…raucous. He wasn’t used to having people invading his space: Time Masters were, on the whole, rather solitary beings who were happy enough to drift to their own private corners, occasionally exchanging nods or, when the alcohol starting flowing, the occasional war story. The Legends on the other hand…they were chaos distilled into the forms of eight individuals, all equally migraine-inducing in their own ways.

Furthermore, Rip knew that we couldn’t remove his Simulacrum in their presence, and as the damned things weren't meant for long term wear, was reducing to skulking in his quarters unless there was a mission on.

Then…he got Carter killed and Kendra injured. And what was the point? In…anything really. For all his lofty aspirations of heroism, the sum total of his accomplishments thus far had been to fail to kill Vandal Savage, get one member of his team killed and another one fatally injured. No, there was no way that he was going to get anyone else hurt when it was his responsibility, his duty.

Of course, he hadn’t accounted for Sara’s stubbornness. And he really wished that he hadn’t mentioned the bank at all, to anyone and had just managed to go on his own. Because kneeling in front of Vandal Savage, surrounded by chanting acolytes he was fairly certain that this was how it was going to end for him. And he had dragged Ms Lance into certain death alongside him.

“Gareeb,” Savage said, gesturing at his minions who hoisted Rip to his feet so that he could stare deeply into the other man’s eyes, “How nice it is to see you again after all these years. You have changed I see. Aged.”

There was a knowing, almost playful glint in his eyes, something that invited him to partake in the joke. It made Rip want to punch him and to keep punching.

“Or maybe you haven’t?” he continued, reaching out to caress the side of Rip’s face. Rip growled and jerked backwards, but to no avail: Savage’s goons had too tight a hold on him and wasted no time in restraining his head so that he was forced to watch, helpless as Savage’s fingers came forward once again and traced the edge of the Simulacrum.

“Leave him alone,” Sara said behind him, and Rip fought back a wince as he heard the unmistakable sound of someone being punched in the face.

“Now,” Savage murmured, “Why would I do that?”

Quick as a viper, he hooked his fingers underneath the Simulacrum and pulled, stamping on is viciously.

“Ahhh,” Savage said, “There’s my Gareeb. You really haven’t aged a day.”

“Rip?” Sara said uncertainly. At the angle they were standing, Rip knew that she couldn’t see his face, but Sara was smart. She knew that something had changed, she just lacked the context to understand what.

“Sara,” Rip said, desperately trying to fight down panic as his mind conjured images of what had happened the last time he had been so exposed in front of Vandal Savage, “I need you to trust me. Please.”

“Poor Gareeb,” Savage purred, “Alone, without anyone to guard his back. Perhaps you fared better when you were my prisoner.”

Rip swallowed but faintly in the background he could hear the unmistakable sound of fighting.

“Oh,” he said, “I’m not alone.”

It was after that things got violent.

If there was one thing he could say about the crew, it was that they knew how to fight: no sooner had they burst in the door than there were bullets, flames, and energy beams of all kinds flying around. Instantly he lunged for his Simulacrum, discarded on the floor by Savage’s feet. Finally managing to pick it up with his still bound hands, he raised it to his face…

“Bollocks,” he said.

It was damaged beyond repair, weakly sparking. There was no way he would be able to put it back on: he would probably be electrocuted if he tried.

“Fuck,” he said.

He hadn’t thought to bring more than two Simulacra with him and even that had been unnecessary, he had thought. Over his long and distinguished career as a Time Master he had only had to replace his Simulacrum once, and even then he had had to endure hours of lectures on his irresponsibility. Most Time Masters kept the same one for the entirety of his careers.

Well. No use crying over spilt milk. He leapt to his feet and launched himself at Savage, barely remembering that his hands were still bound.

“Damn it English,” Mick Rory growled, catching him and barely managing to slice the ropes restraining him as he flew past, “At least bring a weapon with you.”

He started to proffer Rip’s laser gun, but faltered slightly, seeing his face.

“…English?” he said.

“No time Mr Rory!” Rip said, grabbing the weapon and shooting a man who had taken advantage of Mick’s momentary distraction, “I’ll explain later. Once we’re not fighting for our lives.”

His moment of aid had cost him, however: when he swung back to search for Savage the man had vanished. Rip looked around him frantically, but it was no use: he couldn’t see him anywhere. Growling in frustration, Rip channelled all of his rage at failing to kill Savage once again into getting rid of the man’s acolytes instead: there was no way he was going to lose another person.

The fight ended all too soon, and they were left, panting heavily, in a room full of corpses.

“Are you alright Rip?” Sara asked, making her way toward him, “Savage was being pretty damned creepy- Wow. What the hell happened to you?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Mick growled, caressing his gun suspiciously.

“I’ll explain when we’re back on the Waverider,” Rip said wearily, ignoring Jax’s ‘Holy shit!’ behind him, “I have no desire to explain this more than once.”

The trip back was tense: nobody was quite sure how to react to his unmasked face. Rip himself wasn’t keen on disturbing the silence: he was certain it would be the last that he’d be able to enjoy for a while. Besides, he was, not sulking exactly, but preoccupied in turning over his latest encounter with Savage in his head, thinking about where he had gone wrong.

It was therefore a subdued group that came to meet Martin and Ray in the medbay, Leonard and Martin pointedly flanking Rip so that he didn’t have an opportunity to escape and ensconce himself in his quarters.

Ray blinked at them as they entered medbay: “Ok,” he said, “Who’s the kid and where’s Captain Hunter?”

Rip scowled. This was exactly the sort of situation he had hoped to avoid.

“I’m fairly certain that you all need medical attention,” he said, addressing mainly Sara, “If you attach the medical cuff-”

“Answers, Rip,” Sara said, “Now.”

“Wait, that’s Captain Hunter? Astonishing!” Martin said, “But how is this possible?”

Rip sighed. He definitely wasn’t getting out of it.

“Right,” he said, running his hands though his hair, “Long story short, although mentally, I have lived approximately 29 years, my physical body is that of a 17-year-old. I use, used, a Simulacrum on missions to make it look as if I’m slightly older as people don’t generally take to being ordered around by a teenager. Any questions?”

“What,” said Sara, “The fuck.”

“Yeah,” said Ray, “I think we’re all going to need the er. The longer version.”

There was a groan beside them, and Kendra sat up slightly.

“I only heard the end of that,” she said, voice bleary with pain and the residual painkillers, “But I would like to second that.”

Rip scowled. “Fine,” he said curtly, “Then I suggest you all make yourselves comfortable. And please refrain from pointless questions: the story is going to take long enough as it is. Now. What do you know about the Time Masters?”

“…they travel in time?” Ray said.

“They’re colossal dicks,” Sara said.

“I don’t like them,” Mick said.

“Oh my god,” said Jax, “Are they immortal? Do you go around chopping each other’s heads off?”

“…no. Why would you- never mind. This is going to take longer than anticipated.”

Rip felt a great sense of fatigue engulf him. He was going to have to betray Time Master secrets, things that the organisation had taken great pains to conceal for literally their entire history. He really wasn’t going to be allowed back.

“The most important thing you have to know,” Rip said, “Is that the Time Masters are based in a place called the Vanishing Point which literally exists outside of time.”

Martin frowned: “That’s not possible,” he started, but Rip held up a weary hand.

“Please,” he said, “No interruptions. Being as it is outside of time, individuals who live there, until recently myself included, do not age when they’re there: in fact, Time Masters only age when they’re on missions. And we undergo stringent physicals every time we return from the outside world: they can literally tell how much time has passed for us by looking at the aging of our cells. It’s one of the things that Miranda hates, the fact that we only have snatched moments…” Rip paused. Blinked back tears. “Hated,” he corrected himself softly, “It was one of the things that Miranda hated.”

“They sound like controlling bastards,” Leonard said, “But that doesn’t explain why you’re a pre-pubescent.”

“Seventeen is hardly pre-pubescent,” Rip shot back, “And I’ll have you know that I have a long and distinguished career underneath my belt. I was one of the best.”

“Answer the question, English,” Mick said.

“We enter the Academy at 16 usually,” Rip said, “Gives us enough time to reach some physical maturity. Before that, potential recruits live in the Refuges, which aren’t located at the Vanishing Point-”

“Wait,” Jax said, “Refuge?”

Rip shot him an annoyed look.

“It’s going to take all day to explain at this rate,” he grumbled, “Yes, Mr Jackson, Refuge. All of us Time Masters are orphans, recruited from throughout time and brought somewhere where we can grow and eventually join the Time Masters to protect history.”

“Child soldiers,” Leonard growled, hands clenching and unclenching around his gun, “You’re telling us that you’re a child soldier.”

Rip bristled.

“I’m twenty-nine years old, Mr Snart! Hardly a child,” he snapped, “And you’re acting like we were forced into it. Being a Time Master is a noble calling: we protect the integrity of time itself! And we always had the choice to refuse. Always.”

Leonard snorted.

“And how old were you when you entered this ‘Refuge’?” he asked, disdain dripping off each word.

“Five,” Rip said, wondering when he had lost control of the conversation, “Although I don’t see what relevance this has-”

Leonard swore, low and vicious. None of the other Legends looked any better: Sara was barely holding on to her control, her face a rictus of anger; Ray was uncharacteristically serious; Jax looked like he wanted someone to tell him this was all an elaborate practical joke. Kendra was on the verge of tears. Martin, refined Martin, looked as if he wanted to punch something. Rip was slightly worried that Leonard actually was going to punch something. Even Mick Rory, someone Rip wasn’t sure would cross the street to piss on him if he were on fire, looked angry.

“Classic manipulation,” Mick growled, “They give you food. Shelter. Safety. And they buy your loyalty forever.”

“You’re all misconstruing this,” Rip said.

Leonard’s eyes narrowed, and he started forward angrily, only to still when Martin placed a warning hand on his shoulder.

“Perhaps we should let the Captain finish his tale,” he said.

“Thank you, Professor,” Rip said, glad that someone was being reasonable, “Now as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, normally we attend the Academy at 16, although I did quite well in my aptitude tests and was allowed early entrance at 14-”

Martin’s smile was starting to look a little fixed, so Rip hurried on: “Although that really isn’t that important. Training lasts two years, although of course time doesn’t pass in the usual linear manner as I explained earlier. When we graduate, we’re assigned a timeship, and sent off to start our work protecting the timeline.”

“You were fourteen when you became a Time Master?” Jax asked.

“I was sixteen mentally,” Rip said, “The same age as members of your military are allowed to enlist. And having undergone excellent training and having been top two in all of my classes. I assure you, I was well-prepared.”

“But you were 14 physically,” Leonard said.

“Well, I suppose technically-”

“And you remained 14 for how long?” Leonard said, cutting Rip off.

“Well,” he said, “I’ve had the Waverider for close to 13 years now, so it must be-”

“Ten years, Captain.”

“Yes, thank you Gideon,” Rip said. He gave a desperate chuckle, “Actually, funnily enough I’ve had to get used to aging again recently: once I stole the Waverider time started passing normally for me once more, which as you can imagine is quite a strange sensation.”

Around him eyes narrowed. There was no laughter. Ah. He might have made a mistake. He had thought they would take the opportunity to mock him, they could put this unfortunate episode behind himself, and then all would go back to something resembling normal. Alas, it was not to be.

“And how long has it been since you stole the Waverider?” Martin asked, faux casually. Rip looked at him worriedly: the restraining hand that he had placed on Leonard’s shoulder appeared to be gripping the other man so tightly that it was white with strain.

“A year or so, perhaps?”

“Eighteen months, Captain.”

“Yes, thank you again Gideon,” Rip said, wishing that she hadn’t chosen now to be so helpful. 

“So you’ve been bouncing around the galaxy for over a decade as a fifteen year old?”

Rip flushed hotly.

“I have more experience time travelling than the rest of you lot put together!” he shot back, “How dare you cast aspersions on my experience-”

“You definitely have the teenage attitude thing going on,” Ray said, “And actually this explains a lot of the melodrama when it came to recruiting us.”

They weren’t listening! This is exactly why he hadn’t wanted to tell them. Most humans had this strange thing where one of the key things they associated with leaders was grey hair and wrinkles, and not actual, practical experience.

“Yes, well I can see that this talk is useless,” Rip said, “So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be heading to my quarters now-”

“Hold it right there, mister,” Sara said, “You’re not even old enough to drink. What makes you think we’ll be ok with you going off and drowning yourself in expensive whiskey?”

“The fact that you have literally never cared before this moment? And for the last time, I’m not a child!” Rip said, “You lot are worse than Gideon.”

“Maybe so,” Leonard said, planting himself firmly in front of Rip and talking his arm, “But things are going to change around here, _Captain_. Starting with you actually eating meals. You’re all skin and bones.”

“Thank you, Mr Snart,” Gideon said, “The Captain has not been consuming the recommended number of calories for a male human of his age since he was deprived of food for a month following his imprisonment by Vandal Savage seven weeks ago.”

“Gideon,” Rip hissed, “Shut up you traitor.”

“Thank you, Gideon,” Martin said, and with a pang, Rip realised that he wasn’t going to be reasonable after all.

“Not at all, Professor,” Gideon replied, “My Captain’s health is my number one priority.”

As Rip was dragged out toward the kitchen, he heard Jax say behind him: “Wait, does this mean I’m not the youngest anymore?”

#

The crew’s newfound occupation with his health, Rip thought sourly, was incredibly irritating. He had been dragged to the kitchen where Mick of all people had cooked for him. Mick! He’d claimed that he needed a proper, home-cooked meal, and Rip had wondered whether he was currently experiencing some fever dream or had slipped into an alternate dimension without noticing.

“I blame you for this, Gideon,” Rip said, from where he had hidden himself in his study, “If you hadn’t spilled the beans about Savage, then they wouldn’t be so-” he scrunched his nose, “Lovey-dovey all of a sudden.”

“You believe that their actions come from guilt, Captain?”

“It’s the only reasonable explanation.”

The quality of Gideon’s silence suggested that she thought otherwise, but was too tactful to point it out, so Rip ignored it. He had more important business to be getting on with, and what with the delays they had incurred while everyone was attempting to _feed_ him, they hadn’t a moment to lose.

“Have you managed to find anything?” he asked hopefully.

“Indeed,” Gideon said, “I have located a telefax from 1986 that indicates that Savage was working with the US military. Unfortunately, it is heavily redacted.”

“Of course it is,” Rip grumbled, “When have things ever gone smoothly for us.”

He looked at the image of the telefax more closely.

“Gideon,” he said, pointing at a watermark on the top of the document, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that appears to be the seal of the Pentagon. Which means that the original document should still be stored there.”

“Are you suggesting infiltrating the Pentagon?” Gideon asked.

“Indeed I am,” Rip said. “At least the prospect of a mission should get the team off my back. Gideon. Is there anyone currently on the bridge?”

“No presently.”

“Good. Perhaps I’ll be able to get there without being force fed some vile protein shake.”

Rip did indeed manage to make it to the bridge un-accosted, and even got as far as setting their destination in the navicomputer before calling the Legends to the bridge. No matter how funny it would be, it would be poor form to subject them to unexpected time travel.

“Strap in everyone,” he said, busying himself with the display, and setting off as soon as everyone was seated.

“Gideon managed to find a lead on Savage’s whereabouts,” he said as soon as they had landed and the usual side-effects had mostly dispersed, “Unfortunately the original is highly redacted. Luckily we’re in possession of a timeship and can easily travel back to retrieve the original.”

“Easily,” Jax said, looking a little green, “You call this easy? I think I’m going to lose my breakfast.”

“Now, now. It really wasn’t that bad. A decade is nothing: I’ve jumped more than three thousand years at a time, and you don’t see me complaining.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s ‘cus you never eat anything, so there’s nothing to throw up,” Jax said, but Rip ignored him, and the unfortunate amount of truth in the statement.

“Ow!”

Something hard had hit his head. Scowling, he picked it up to examine it. It was a protein bar: FULL OF NUTRITIONAL GOODNESSS!! It proclaimed in neon green font.

“Who threw that?” Rip snapped, looking around at the innocent faces surrounding him.

“More to the point,” Leonard drawled, “Have you eaten breakfast today?”

“Have I- for Heaven’s sake, you aren’t my parents!” Rip really was going to snap and murder all of them if they kept this up. Sooner rather than later. Leonard Snart was one of the most notorious criminals of the 21stcentury: it was unfortunate that his file hadn’t also noted his surprising soft spot for children.

“Answer the question.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Rip bit out.

“And was it a cup of tea?” Sara asked, “Because that doesn’t count as breakfast.”

Rip vehemently disagreed with that statement, but in the interest of hurrying things along decided to supplement the truth somewhat: “No, of course not,” he said, “Now, about this mission-”

“Gideon,” Leonard said, “What did our dear Captain have for breakfast?”

“Don’t you dare answer that Gideon!”

“I’m afraid that I can’t answer your query Mr Snart,” Gideon said.

“Now!” Rip said loudly, trying to get back to the mission, “The Pentagon! At the height of the Cold War.”

“We’re stealing from the Pentagon?” Ray said, “That’s so cool.”

“You’ll be able to fashion the necessary disguises using the Fabricator,” Rip continued, “Dr Palmer and Mr Snart, you’ll be in charge of stealing a magnetic keycard. Ms Lance and Ms Saunders, you’ll be the ones to actually retrieve the file. Mr Rory: you’re in charge of causing a diversion. Nothing explosive please, we don’t want to completely shatter the timeline. Firestorm, you’ll need to divert the power long enough for Ms Lance and Ms Saunders to exit the restricted area without being searched. I have sent everyone a more detailed breakdown of the plan and everyone’s part in it: please do try to read it this time. So long as we stick to the plan, this should be relatively simple.”

#

Of course, none of them stuck to the plan.

Looking at the carnage on screen, Rip pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered, “How they can be such _children_.”

Thank god for Gideon.

“Gideon? Ready the EMP pulse.”

#

The Waverider landed with a final shudder, and Rip sagged in relief. It had been a while since he had had to perform a controlled crash, and he had never liked them. Miranda on the other hand…he was certain that Miranda’s bumpy landings had less to do with her skill level and more to do with the way Rip’s face looked after one of her patented ‘landing’. It was the only thing that explained the 98% she had received in her piloting course.

“If it were up to me,” Martin groaned, “They would revoke your piloting license.”

“They,” Rip retorted, “Are more than welcome to seeing as I don’t have one.”

“Too young?” Mick asked.

“No! They just don’t give actual licenses out,” Rip said, “I passed my practical just fine though, thank you for asking.”

“I doubt that,” Ray said, “I doubt that so much.”

“Do be quiet,” Rip said, “Or I won’t share my ‘cool’ toys with you.”

“Oooh!” Ray perked up at that, all hints of nausea disappearing instantly, “And which toys are these?”

“Savage is currently working on a secret project, codename Svarog, for the Soviets.”

And what a typically pretentious name.

“Svarog?”

“The god of fire in Slavic mythology.”

“Never mind that,” Ray said, staring at the display, “Who’s she?”

“Valentina Vostok. She graduated head of her physics programme only to drop out and disappear.”

Ignoring the bickering over the morality of simply disposing of Miss Vostok, Rip went to retrieve the ingestible translators, basking in the enthusiasm that radiated out from Ray. There were some perks to dealing with 21stcentury humans: they were easily impressed.

#

“Temporal anomaly detected.”

Chronos. It must be. Rip hesitated. Normally he would have thought nothing of asking Mick to accompany him to check out Chronos’ downed ship: it made sense after all. He wasn’t exactly the most physically imposing of men and being intimidating and violent was, after all, one of the main reasons he had recruited Mick. Now though… everyone was acting strangely around him. He needed his team to be in peak condition, needed them not to be distracted. And if nothing else, he could admit that he was currently very much a distraction.

No. Best to go alone. He knew Chronos’ tricks: furthermore, it was unlikely that the man had survived the crash. Rip swallowed. If he was a man. No Time Master had seen Chronos’ face before. In fact, the man was something of a boogieman at the Academy. The one that the Council sent after you should you ever be stupid enough to go rogue. Rip had never thought that anyone would be that idiotic, or that selfish. Well, it turned out that he was both.

Shrugging his coat on, he checked that his gun was fully charged before starting to head out.

“Going somewhere?” a voice growled beside him.

Rip closed his eyes and sighed.

“Mr Rory,” he said, “Contrary to popular belief, I am an adult and capable of taking care of myself.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Mick said, falling in beside him and checking over his own gun, which Rip once again noted sourly, was much larger than his own. “There’s no way I’m letting you wander off on your own. Lenny would kill me.”

“Well,” Rip said without much hope, “He wouldn’t have to know.”

“Good try English. Pity it won’t work on me.”

“You don’t even like me,” Rip said flatly.

“No,” Mick said, “I don’t. I think you’re an arrogant little twerp with a stick up his ass. But you’re also a kid, and Lenny’s decided to adopt you so I’m sure as hell not going to let you get yourself killed.”

Rip threw his hands in the air in exasperated surrender. Every moment they stood here arguing was another chance for Chronos to sneak up on them and attack.

“Fine,” he conceded ungracefully, “You win. Try not to get used to it.”

#

The forest was eerily quiet, no sign of anyone. Gun carefully raised in preparation; Rip resolutely ignored the way Mick kept moving to cover him.

“Chronos must be in the trees,” Rip said, scanning them carefully, “Keep a sharp eye out.”

Movement, and both men span around, weapons whirring as they started to power up.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

Quickly, Rip lowered his gun and forced down Mick’s before anyone could get shot.

“What the hell, English?” Mick said. But Rip wasn’t listening.

“Time Master Druce!” he said. And it was him, creased face frowning back at Rip, as familiar and unchanged as ever. He was the perfect Time Master: intelligent and ruthless, able to assess the downstream consequences of his every action before he even stepped foot into the timeline. He was the one who was single-handedly responsible for Rome’s fall, had near eradicated the chaotic Time Commission, scattering its former members to the winds. He was a stalwart soldier of justice, and the man that every cadet idolised and fantasised about meeting. More than that, he was the kindly man who had taken interest in a lonely orphan at Mary Xavier’s Refuge and given him purpose. He was Rip’s patron and mentor who had been the driving force that had allowed him to take the entrance examination to the Academy two years early. If it hadn’t been for Zaman Druce and Rip’s fear of disappointing the man, it was likely that he would have left with Miranda all those years ago, and even now be dead at Savage’s hands.

“How on earth did you find me?”

It made the disdain on his face even more painful: he had known that he would alienate all of the Time Masters when he embarked on his crusade, but it still hurt.

“You haven’t exactly been subtle,” Druce said. He frowned. “I see that you’ve lost your Simulacrum again. Sloppy of you, not bringing a backup.”

Rip glanced down, face flushed and feeling all of ten years old.

“I see,” Druce said, “You’ve managed to lose two Simulacra then.”

“There were extenuating circumstances,” Rip said.

“This one of your Time Masters?” Mick growled, “Can I waste him?”

“No!” Rip said, overloud, “Look, can you just. Can you just give us a moment?”

Mick scowled.

“I don’t trust him.”

“Mr Rory,” Rip hissed, keenly aware that Druce was watching them in amusement, “Can you please, just obey orders.”

Mick scowled, but finally moved off leaving the two Time Masters alone.

“Quite a rag-tag team you’ve assembled yourself, Rip,” he said lightly, “They seem very protective of you. Too bad they don’t show that devotion toward preserving the timeline.”

Rip looked away, jaw clenched.

“I thought you were Chronos,” he said, changing the subject.

“Unfortunately, Chronos perished in the crash,” Druce said. There was no sadness in his face, “I was sent to make sure the Soviets don’t find the remains of his ship, and I took the opportunity to lure you out as it were.”

Druce shook his head.

“You were one of the best, Rip,” he said, “In another century or so you might have even had a place on the Council. The fact that you would turn your back on us, on your sacred duty to the timeline… Well. I would never have thought it of you.”

“I had to,” Rip said softly, “The Council wouldn’t believe me about Vandal Savage, about the danger that he poses to the entire world.”

“Let’s be truthful with each other,” Druce said lightly, “You mean the damage to he poses to your family.”

Rip froze.

“I-” he said.

“We know about your indiscretion with Lt Coburn,” Druce said, “Ex-lieutenant Coburn, rather. Have you considered Rip, in your self-righteous zeal, that the reason that Vandal Savage killed your family at all was because you attempted to kill him in Ancient Egypt?”

Rip’s throat was dry.

“You seem very well informed of my movements,” he said.

“As I said, you’ve not been subtle.”

Druce sighed, a fatherly look of concern appearing on his face.

“Do you see what comes of fracturing time like this? You created the very scenario that you sought to prevent.”

“A stable temporal paradox,” Rip whispered, thinking about the pocket watch that Savage had stolen from him. The one with the pictures of his family. The reason that he knew who to target in the first place.

“It’s good to see that you haven’t forgotten all your training,” Druce said.

“It’s really my fault,” Rip said, numbly.

“Of course it is,” said Druce, “And this, Rip. This is why we don’t allow marriage or procreation, safeguards against scenarios like this one. One rogue Time Master had the power to doom an entire future: and all we can do is mitigate the effects and allow them to be reintegrated into the timestream. And it’s still incredibly fragile: if you succeed in killing Savage you could destabilise all of time itself.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Rip said. Everything seemed far away and distant, his vision wavering.

“Because I am giving you a choice,” Druce said softly, “Your part in the temporal paradox is complete. I’ve pled your case before the Council, and we’ve come to an agreement. If you turn yourself in now, return to the Vanishing Point with me, then you’ll be acquitted of all charges. You can come home again.”

He placed a fatherly arm on Rip’s shoulder: “You’re so young,” he said, “And so talented that I forget how young you are. Perhaps that’s my fault: I relied on you to do the right thing, the hard thing too often. Give it a few more centuries and you will learn perspective. People are fleeting: here one moment, gone the next. The most important thing, the only important thing is the timeline. Do you remember the vow you made when you were granted the rank of Time Master?”

“To protect the timeline-” Rip whispered.

“-thereby protecting all human life,” Druce completed. “Do you really think that you’re doing that now?”

“And what,” said Rip, speaking as if through treacle, “About my team?”

“They’ll be returned to 2016 unharmed,” Druce said, “Which is more than I can say for Carter Hall.”

Rip flinched, the omnipresent guilt rearing its head and sending a pang through the cloud of apathy that had surrounded him. He didn’t say anything.

Druce sighed.

“At least consider my offer,” he said, “You were always one of my favourite pupils, Rip. One day I thought that you’d take my place. If you repent now, you still might.”

“This doesn’t just concern me,” Rip said, “I’ll need to consult my comrades.”

“Do so, and then meet me back here in an hour.”

Druce started to walk off, no doubt returning to his ship. He was so certain that Rip would return, so damned sure.

“You seem very sure that I’ll take your offer,” Rip said.

Druce looked back and smiled. It was not a kind expression.

“If you don’t, then there really is no hope for you,” he said.

#  
  


“That was a smooth piece of manipulation,” Mick said, looking up from where he was cleaning his gun.

“I see we can add eavesdropping to your criminal resumé,” Rip said, but it was without rancour. He didn’t have enough mental energy to engage in their usual back and forth: his mind was consumed by his family. By Miranda and Jonas. Who he had killed, as surely as he had pulled the trigger himself.

“Seriously English,” Mick said, “Your friend is either planning on killing you or messing you up so badly that that there’ll be nothing left of you but a little time master lackey.”

“Time Master Druce is one of my oldest friends,” Rip said, “He’s practically my father. Why would he do something like that? If he wanted to kill me, why wouldn’t he have done it there and then?”

“Because,” said Mick, “He wants you to bring the team with him. Or he wants you to come crawling back to him. And fathers aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Look at mine. Look at Lenny’s. Hell, our team is one giant mess of daddy issues.”

Rip rubbed a weary hand over his eyes, “As much as I would love to play therapist and listen to your myriad neuroses,” he said, “We only have an hour to get back to the ship and talk to everyone. Decide what to do.”

“You can’t be considering this,” Mick said.

“Oh, but I am Mr Rory,” Rip said, “Because even if he does kill me, unlikely as it may be, I have to face the facts: it might be better for the entirety of the timestream if he does.”

#

“Sara!” Mick bellowed as soon as they set foot upon the Waverider, “I need you to stop beating up lady hawk and get your ass in here. English is going to do something stupid.”

Rip winced: this was doing nothing for the pounding headache that he had developed.

“Gideon,” he said wearily, “have Dr Palmer and Mr Snart returned from their mission yet?”

“No Captain,” Gideon said, “Although I can contact them if you wish-”

“Yes,” growled Mick, “Tell them to hurry the fuck back for a family meeting. We have an idiot to sit on.”

Rip sighed: “It’s probably for the best that they be here,” he said to Gideon, “As what we are to discuss involves the entirety of the crew. Maybe censor the message before sending it though. And ask the others to meet me in my study at their earliest convenience.”

“Which means right now,” Mick said.

“Yes, thank you Mr Rory, I think we all get the point.”

“I’m not letting you run off and do anything stupid,” Mick said, “And unlike you, I’m smart enough to know when to bring in back-up.”

Rip didn’t bother to argue, merely making his way to his study and pouring himself a generous portion of whiskey.

“Thank you, I’ll be taking that,” said Martin, sweeping in and plucking the glass straight from Rip’s hands, ignoring his furious splutters.

“You’re underage by any country’s standards,” he said, taking a sip of whiskey, “Although you do have exquisite taste in alcohol.”

“I’m twenty-bloody-nine! Can you not just accept that I’m an adult, that I’ve been an adult for years now.”

“Let it go,” Jax said, “He’s really uptight about the alcohol thing. I’m basically twenty-one and whenever I think about drinking, he’s there, this little disapproving voice in my head.”

“I’m twenty-oh forget it.”

It was probably best if he kept a clear head in any case. He had no doubt that he would need to argue his case with his suddenly rabidly over-protective team.

“We’re here,” Sara said. Both she and Kendra looked rather the worse for wear, but Rip didn’t ask. He really didn’t want to know at this point.

“Us too,” Leonard said, “Now, tell us what was so important that we had to cut the mission short.”

Briefly, Rip summarised the situation.

“No,” Sara said once he’d finished, “No way are you giving yourself up to that manipulative bastard.”

“He was working over English like a pro,” Mick said, “Knew exactly what to say to push the right buttons. Got him so messed up he couldn’t tell up from down.”

“This isn’t a perfect deal,” Rip said, “But it would allow all of you to return home safely. The Time Council will repair the damage that we’ve done to the timeline and everything will go back to normal.”

Martin narrowed his eyes at him, and Rip had the sudden, terrifying feeling of being seen.

“Carter Hall’s death was not your fault,” he said, “He knew the risks when he signed on.”

“Did he?” Rip said, “I wasn’t exactly forthcoming when I recruited you. In any case, Mr Hall is merely the latest victim in the long line of people whose deaths I have caused, my wife and son included.”

“Stop being such a martyr, Rip,” Leonard snapped, “Even if your Time Master pal is telling the truth, which I doubt, what were you supposed to do? Let your family be slaughtered and do nothing?”

“It seems that you’ve got quite the death wish, Captain,” Martin said, “But excuse us if we don’t indulge you in that.”

“When my fiancé died,” Ray said, eyes creased in concern, “I was pretty messed up-”

“I caused the death of millions of people!” Rip snarled, “I’m sorry for your loss Dr Palmer, but it’s hardly the same thing.”

He stood abruptly.

“This is useless. I’m sorry, but I know what I have to do. Thank you all for your willingness to join my cause: I wish you all they best for the future.”

And he strode out, ignoring the commotion behind him. The last thing he heard was Mick Rory saying: “No. Let him go.”

Good, he thought. Good.

#

“Rip,” Druce said, “I’m glad that you came.”

“You were right,” Rip said, hunched in on himself, “I was a fool. But I’ve finally come to my senses.”

Druce smiled gently at him.

“And I’m glad to hear it.”

Taking hold of his shoulder, he started to gently steer him away: “We’ll be taking my ship,” he said, “Less chance of…accidental overrides. I’ll send someone back for the Waverider and your team. They’ll deposit them safely back into their timelines, as promised.”

“Yeah, think again asshole,” came a voice from behind.

“What?” said Rip spinning around, “What the blazes are you doing here?”

Leonard Snart stood behind them, hands resting casually on his gun.

“We followed you,” he said, not taking his eyes off Druce, “You didn’t really think we’d let you go through with this?”

“They don’t have a lot of faith in you, do they?” Druce said.

“It’s not a matter of faith,” Ray said, stepping out beside Leonard, clad in his ATOM suit.

“Not you as well Dr Palmer,” Rip said. Ray ignored him, which was actually pretty insulting.

“Let him go,” he said to Druce, gauntlet raised like he was Iron Man of something.

“Dr Palmer,” Rip said, starting forward, only to be stopped by Druce’s hand, “Don’t.”

“Yes, listen to your Captain,” Druce said, “And you can still leave without bloodshed.”

“Bloodshed- Sir! You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid that I am, Rip,” Druce said, the nails digging into his arm, “Sometimes hard decisions have to be made. This is why we work alone: a team is a liability. They stop us from making the hard choices.”

Blood was rushing through Rip’s ears. He couldn’t lose any more members of him team, that was the whole point of turning himself in to the Time Masters. He also couldn’t allow Druce to be hurt or killed. And it was looking likely that he would be: one man, no matter how talented, had no chance of standing against several Legends.

“We can still resolve this peacefully,” he said desperately, “Just go our separate ways. Why can’t you people see that this is our only option?”

“I believe,” said a deep voice to the left, “That my colleague told you to let go of the kid.”

Wonderful. Now Mick was here, and they were somewhat flanked. Bitterly, he wondered who was going to appear next. Surely the others would have more sense.

“I thought you told them to let me go,” Rip said.

“Because I knew we couldn’t stop you from being a moron,” Mick said.

He and Leonard locked eyes, a wealth of unspoken information passing between them, and then Leonard’s gaze drifted past Mick and focused on something behind Rip. There was a sense of foreboding deep in Rip’s stomach.

“And there he is,” Leonard said softly, “The other member of your little band.”

Rip stiffened as he felt the cold metal of a gun press against his head.

“I was perhaps a little lax with the truth,” Druce said, “Fortunately I don’t have to explain myself to you. Now, I’m going to take Rip here back to my ship, and if any of you follow me or do anything rash, I shall have my associate blow his brains out.”

“And I don’t miss,” said the black clad figure of Chronos. Who apparently wasn’t dead.

“What are you doing Druce?” Rip asked carefully.

“Just ensuring that I have a bit of leverage,” Druce said, “A good Captain should always have contingency plans: I taught you that.”

A streak of something hot and bright came hurtling toward them, and Rip instinctively threw himself to the ground. A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked up, blinking spots from his vision.

“Come on,” said Kendra, wing’s out and ready, “It’s time for us to go.”

“Great,” Rip said, desperately trying to control the tremor in his voice, “You all came.”

Indeed, the bright object had revealed itself to be Firestorm, and to his right he could see Sara, batons out, running at Chronos. Why did they do this? Run into danger that he had specifically tried to get them to avoid?

“No time,” Kendra, “Now, hold on to me tightly: I don’t want to drop you.”

“Kendra, watch out!”

It was too late, and she was blown off her feet, crumpling to the ground in a pile of feathers. Rip couldn’t stop staring at her, willing her to move, to groan, to do anything that would prove that she wasn’t dead. That he hadn’t failed someone else.

“Hurry,” Druce snapped, “The sooner that you leave, the sooner the fighting can stop.”

Rip got unsteadily to his feet.

“Actually, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Firestorm said, and then blasted Druce who fell to the floor, desperately batting at his clothes to put out the flames.

“Warn me next time!” Rip yelped, trying to avoid the fire, “And who thought that using incendiary powers in an incredibly flammable forest was a good idea?”

“Hey,” Firestorm said, “You do not get to bitch about your rescue attempt when you were the one dumb enough to surrender yourself in the first place.”

“I really thought it was the best course of action-”

Ray suddenly appeared next to him, unshrinking himself and grabbing Rip in his arms and taking flight, giving him no time to react.

“Excuses later, escaping now,” he said, dodging through the trees until they reached the Waverider and ignoring all of Rip’s protests.

As soon as they made it to the interior of the ship, Ray tapped his earpiece three times, then landed. He didn’t, however, let go of Rip.

“Put me down!” Rip said, trying unsuccessfully to get free, and Ray must have had hidden depths despite his best efforts he was unable to escape the man’s grip.

“Not until we’ve in the temporal zone,” Ray said, “And maybe not even then. You are so grounded.”

“Not. A. Child!”

“Well, you’re acting like one.”

“A bit of help, Gideon?” Rip said.

“I’m sorry Captain, but there’s nothing that I can do,” came Gideon’s serene voice, “I suggest that you update my subroutines at your earliest convenience in order to restore full functionality.”

“Subroutines? You must be joking. Gideon! This isn’t funny.”

“No. It isn’t Captain.”

Damn. It was that tone of voice. The one that portended an abundance of cold showers in his future.

“Yeah, I don’t think she’s pleased with you either,” Ray said.

“Dr Palmer, please brace yourself. All members of the crew have safely returned to the ship and we will be entering the temporal zone momentarily.”

“Thank you, Gideon,” Ray said, sitting down on a nearby chair and keeping a firm grip on Rip. There was a jolt, and then the unmistakeable sensation of flight into the temporal zone. At that point, Ray finally let him go, allowing Rip to scramble to his feet like an offended cat.

“How dare you-” he started furiously.

“No. How dare you?” Sara Lance strode into the room, trailed by the rest of the Legends. She did not look happy, and abruptly Rip remembered that she was a dangerous ex-member of the League of Assassins who had been dealing with severe anger management issues after having been brought back from the dead.

“I had a plan,” Rip hissed.

“That travesty,” Martin said, “Was not a plan. It was a suicide mission. It was giving up. It was unworthy of you, Captain.”

“Everything would have worked out! You would all be safe. Instead we’re fugitives-”

“Not like it’s the first time,” Mick said.

“We’ve alienated the Time Masters-”

“Pretty sure you’d already done that,” Jax said.

“And even if we succeed in killing Vandal Savage, which I doubt we will, there’s a very real possibility that it’ll shatter time, thereby causing the death of all living beings!”

Nobody, Rip thought resentfully, appeared to give his pronouncement the appropriate amount of gravitas it deserved.

“And did your manipulative friend tell you that?” Leonard asked.

“Druce wouldn’t lie to me,” Rip said, “Not about something this important.”

“Like he didn’t lie to you about Chronos being alive?”

“That’s different,” Rip said, “He would be stupid to trust me: although I’m not happy about it, the fact of the matter is that he would be an idiot not to have a backup plan.”

“This is stupid,” Ray said, interjecting before Leonard could reply, “And it’s obvious that we’re not going to get anywhere debating this. Look, we’re all tired. We need to rest for a bit before figuring out what to do next. We have a time machine for God’s sake, it’s time to take advantage of it.”

“We can de-programme him later,” he said lowly to Leonard, something that Rip was fairly certain he wasn’t meant to hear. He didn’t call him out on it however: now that Ray had mentioned rest, he had become aware that he was literally exhausted. He could feel the endless nights sacrificed to research finally catching up to him and wanted nothing more than to return to the safety of his quarters and attempt to snatch at least an hour of sleep, true sleep.

Of course, it was at that point that Chronos attacked and they were thrown out of the temporal zone and into 2046 Star City.

#  
  


“I am not staying on the ship,” Rip said flatly.

“Oh yes you are,” Sara said, “Because whatever the hell happened to Starling City, it’s evidentially not safe anymore.”

“Anyway,” Jax said quickly, “We need someone to repair the Waverider. I’m just an auto mechanic man, I’m going to need a little guidance.”

He paused.

“Plus, I figure you can get into some of those small spaces more easily than me.”

“Haha,” Rip said, “Very funny. There’s a slight problem with that. When I was looking at the engine room, I found that the Neuromorphic Interface for Gideon’s logic and navigation matrix was damaged. Without it, Gideon cannot function.”

And that would truly be the last straw. Something must have shown on his face, because Ray quickly said: “Palmer tech was working on a self-learning neuromorphic interface: by 2046 it would have gone to prototype by now.”

“So we go out there,” Sara said, “Get the tech and maybe figure out what happened to my city.”

“If I’m not allowed to leave the ship,” Rip said, “Then Ms Lance and Dr Palmer definitely shouldn’t be allowed to go. I have tried to shield you from the knowledge of their own futures: actually stepping out and interacting with it is a catastrophically bad idea on so many levels.”

“What? How can you say that! You’ve seen what it’s like out there, Rip. Dad, and Ollie and the others would never allow anything like that to happen, which means they must be dead. Or worse. There’s no way I’m staying here when I could be finding a way to stop this.”

“You don’t understand Sara!” Rip said, “By attempting to prevent the events of this potential future, you may in fact end up causing it instead.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes,” Rip said quietly, “I do. In fact I would say that I am the reigning expert on accidentally causing a hellish future.”

He took a deep breath, ignoring the pitying looks: “I shall stay behind and start to fix the Waverider, with Dr Palmer and Ms Lance’s help. Mr Rory and Mr Snart, you’re in charge of acquiring the neuromorphic interface. Kendra, you go with them and make sure they don’t get too distracted. In fact, take Jax and Professor Stein with you: I trust that in my absence they will be able to identify the interface. And you’ll be able to depend on Firestorm as backup.”

“We’ll go in and out. No detours,” Leonard said, “The sooner we get out of here the better.”

“Thank you, Mr Snart,” Rip said, “I appreciate it.”

“But don’t think this is getting you out of that talk,” Leonard added, before slipping off, Mick trailing after him.

#

For once, things actually went according to plan. Between Rip’s years of experience when it came to maintenance and Sara’s enthusiastic (if occasionally sullen) aid, he managed to get the majority of the damage fixed. Enough for them to take off in any case, once Gideon was back online.

All they could really do was wait until the others got back and hope that they didn’t get into too much trouble. Sara had disappeared, probably working off her nervous energy punching things. Or at least Rip hoped so: the last thing he needed was her sneaking out and interacting with her own future.

He understood the urge, however. With the majority of the repairs finished, he was reduced to finishing some of the more cosmetic fixes, welding panels back onto the wall with Ray who apparently had a deep fascination with welding. Alternately he was being babysat, and Sara and Ray were trading off shifts.

“So, tell me about Gideon,” Ray said, “How did you guys meet?”

“You make it sound like we’re dating,” Rip said.

“I mean, you kind of are,” Ray said, “13 years is a hell of a long time for any relationship.”

Rip smiled to himself.

“The bond I share with Gideon is beyond any conventional classification,” he said, “In fact, I think the closest that I can describe it is that she’s my soul mate. She and I know everything about each other.” He made a face, “No matter how embarrassing.”

“She’s got all the dirty details, huh?” Ray said, “I should hit her up after this. See if she has any fun anecdotes to share.”

“Do not,” Rip ordered, “Try and turn Gideon against me. I guarantee that she will never betray me. Not when it comes to the important things, anyway.”

“It must be nice to have a friend like that,” Ray said, “Someone you know you can count on.”

“Yes,” said Rip, “It is.” He barked out a laugh: “She was not impressed when I was first assigned her. I was a scrawny little thing back when I graduated: the first thing she said to me was that she wasn’t sure that the fabricator could even make clothes in my size. I suppose when your physical body is the Waverider, then all of us humans look incredibly unimpressive.”

“I wonder what that’s like,” Ray said, “Being able to just…soar through space and time. Now that would be a cool superpower.”

“It has its upsides,” Rip said.

The sound of the ramp descending drew his attention, and he immediately dropped his blowtorch and ran toward the cargo bay.

“Have you got it?” he demanded, not waiting for an answer before snatching the briefcase Jax was holding and making his way to the engine room.

“You’re welcome!” Leonard called after him as the group started to leisurely follow him.

“Someone ought to teach that kid some gratitude,” Mick said, “I gave up my own gang for that briefcase.”

“Yes, and we’re all very grateful,” Martin said, but Rip couldn’t hear any more because he was rounding the corner and dropping to his knees in front of Gideon’s central processor. Quickly he removed the neuromorphic interface from its briefcase and hooked it up.

“Gideon?” he said, “Gideon, can you hear me?”

For a moment, Rip was worried that it hadn’t worked. That he was stranded in a dystopian future, without Gideon. That he had trapped everyone with him, thereby causing the future: he wasn’t stupid, he had a fair idea that Ray and Sara’s absence from Starling City had had a non-negligible contribution to the fact that it had been overtaken by the forces of chaos. Everything he touched, every single thing, turned to ash…

The lights flickered.

“Captain,” said Gideon, “I’ll always hear you.”

#

The ambush is meticulously-planned, well-executed and clearly the result of a truly devious mind. If only the Legends could bring that sort of focus to actual missions.

As it was, the moment Gideon entered the temporal zone he found himself being whisked away to the kitchen where, underneath the eagle eyes of Leonard Snart and Martin Stein, he was forced to consume what felt like his own weight in spaghetti bolognaise. Made from ingredients that Mick had apparently stolen from 2046.

He still couldn’t quite get over the fact that Mick enjoyed cooking. And was actually good at it.

“All of it,” Kendra said, pointing at his half-eaten plate. For someone who had only recently discovered that she had been reincarnation over and over for 4000 years, she had certain managed to assimilate her memories quickly. Especially those pertaining to motherhood, Rip thought bitterly.

“You must be joking,” he said, “There was enough food on that plate to defeat even Mr Rory.”

“You’re a teenage boy, Rip,” Martin said.

“No, I’m not-”

“Yes you are,” Martin said patiently, “Physically at the very least. And from my own, admittedly blurry memories, of teenagerhood-”

“Back when fire was a new invention,” Jax snickered.

“-teenage boys are always hungry. And thank you for that commentary, Jefferson.”

“No problem, Grey,” he said, “Always happy to keep your ego in check. For real though man, when I was your age, I could’ve eaten twice what’s on your plate. Hell, I still could.”

Jax paused, a strange look on his face.

“I can’t believe I just said ‘when I was your age’,” he said, “I thought that was something only old people said.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Rip said, “With your increased metabolism as one half of Firestorm, I have no doubt that you could eat Mr Rory under the table.”

“Stop deflecting,” Sara said, “And eat the damned pasta. Because you’re not being let up from this table until you do.”

Rip took another reluctant forkful, carefully chewing and swallowing before pushing the plate away from him.

“Look,” he said, “Even when I was a teenager-”

“Oh for God’s sake, you’re still a teenager, that’s the point,” Martin said.

“Even when I was a teenager I could never eat this much. This is a ludicrous amount of food, and I am certain that anyone outside of America would agree with me.” He paused. “Apart from the Edwardians. Now they ate a lot.”

Leonard made an unhappy noise, but Ray shook his head.

“One battle at a time,” he said, “At least he ate half of it.”

“You are aware that I can hear you, correct?” Rip said.

“Just be thankful that Haircut is a soft touch,” Mick said, “Do you know how many people I cook for? That are still alive?”

“There’s a story here that I’m not going to touch,” Jax said, “I mean. I want to know. But I’m still not going to touch it.”

“Probably for the best,” Sara said, “I wish there were things I could unknow about Mick.”

Rip slowly slid from his chair, hoping that in the ensuing bickering he could make his escape. Alas, it was not to be.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Kendra said, spotting him immediately.

“To my quarters,” Rip said.

“Oh no you’re not,” she said.

“On the contrary,” Rip said, “You’ll find that I am.”

“Yeah, no,” Sara said, “I don’t trust you not to spend the next week holed up in there, re-watching your family’s last message. Not like it would be the first time.”

“How did you- Gideon.”

Sara was unrepentant.

“She’s worried about you. We all are. Anyway, we need to have a proper talk because I don’t put it past you to knock us all out and drop us back in 2016 when we’re not paying attention. Not that you could, but it sounds like exactly the sort of thing that you’d do.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Rip said, but it sounded unconvincing even to him.

“Sure you wouldn’t,” Leonard drawled. He stood up from where he had been sat opposite Rip, and crossed the kitchen, reaching into a tall cupboard and withdrawing a bottle full of clear liquid.

“Now,” he said, “This isn’t like your fancy-ass whiskey. This is man’s drink, made for one purpose and one purpose alone: to get drunk.”

“I hardly think-” Martin said.

“Hush Professor. Desperate times and all that,” Leonard said, waving him off.

“Hmph. Just this once then. Jax, I suppose you can have one as well if Rip is partaking.”

Jax rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue, reaching over and snatching a glass clear liquid and knocking it back. Only to spit it out again, coughing so violently Rip thought he was going to lose a lung.

“What the hell is that stuff?” he asked.

“Proper Russian moonshine,” Leonard said, “Swiped from Russia before our Captain’s little attack of self-sacrificing idiocy cut our mission short.”

Sara took the proffered glass and tossed her shot back like a pro, barely wincing. Everyone paused to stare at her.

“Not bad,” she said, grabbing the bottle and pouring herself another generous measure.

“…how do you still have a functional liver?” Ray asked.

“Talent,” Sara said.

“Never mind Sara’s terrifying alcohol tolerance,” Rip said, “Let’s just get this over with so that I can get out of here. Now, what exactly did you wish to speak to me about?”

“Many things,” Leonard said, who had evidentially been nominated (or had volunteered) to take the point on this one, “But mostly your death wish.”

“I don’t have a death wish,” Rip said.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Leonard said, “Because your actions are not those of a man who cares whether he lives or dies.”

“Well, what do I have to live for?” Rip snapped, suddenly so very tired with the subject, “My family is dead, because of me, I doomed the future to the rule of a murderous tyrant, and I’ve caused the death of at least one of my team.”

“This again?”

“Yes, this again. You may disagree with me, but that doesn’t change the truth. Why can’t you accept that I’m trying to keep you all safe? That the chances of you all dying horribly decrease exponentially the further away from me you are?”

“Er, superhero here,” Ray said, “I think you’re talking to the wrong group of people.”

“I’ve literally already died,” Sara said, clearly unimpressed, “And it didn’t take.”

“Because the Lazarus Pit is such a barrel of laughs,” Rip said bitterly, then winced. Regretting the words as soon as he said them.

“I’m going to allow that once,” Sara said, “Because you’re a teenage boy and teenage boys are idiots.”

“Not a teenager!”

Sara’s voice softened. “Why can’t you just accept that we’re worried about you?” she said.

“Because there was none of this concern before you realised my biological age,” Rip said, “So I really don’t see why you, any of you, have the gall to claim you care now when you’re clearly suffering under the delusion that just because I look a few years younger means that you have to protect me.”

“…that’s fair,” Ray said carefully, “I mean. I’m not saying that wasn’t the catalyst. But. Rip. Can’t we just care about you because we’ve got to know you? Because despite being a high-handed dick most of the time, you’re fundamentally a good person who didn’t deserve what happened to you?”

“No,” said Rip, “Because only three people have ever cared about me with no ulterior motive, and two of them are dead. Now excuse me,” he said, draining his own glass of liquor, “But I’m leaving. Good talk, let’s have another one sometime never.”

He strode out of the room, head held high.

“Captain,” Gideon said, “They care for you-”

“Please Gideon,” Rip said, not faltering, “Not you too. I just need one person to be on my side. Is that too much to ask?”

“Of course not, Rip,” Gideon said, “And if you don’t already know that I will always be on your side, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

#

Rip spent the next few days-not hiding no matter what Gideon said-but carefully avoiding the rest of the Legends. They were good at sneaking around and several of them were trained in espionage, but he had lived on the Waverider for the majority of his life. He knew exactly how to make his way around the ship unseen.

Not that he went anywhere. He mainly sat in his study and watched the holograms of Miranda and Jonas over and over, listening to them telling him that they love him. That and draining every bottle of alcohol that he could find. Occasionally, he opened the door and collected the protein bars that someone was leaving for him, ignoring the trays of food disdainfully.

Not the healthiest of coping mechanisms, but he was past the point of caring.

Finally, a week after his outburst in the kitchen he stopped putting off the inevitable and left his study.

“Captain,” Martin said when he stumbled into the kitchen, “Run out of alcohol, have we?”

Rip growled at this, annoyed when that only made Martin laugh and ruffle his hair as if he were a disobedient puppy or something equally saccharine.

“Rip!” Ray said, sailing into the kitchen looking ridiculously well put together, “Good to see you out and about. Have you eaten yet? Stupid question. Sit down, I’ll make you something for that hangover.”

“…sorry, what?”

“Do you want bacon or sausages with your eggs? You know what? I’ll make both.”

“Are we just…ignoring the past week?” Rip asked.

Beside him, Martin snorted into his book, but declined to answer.

Ray placed a glass of orange juice next to him with a thump. “Eggs will be ready in a moment,” he said.

“Was Dr Palmer replaced by a 1950s housewife?” Rip asked, “Or did he suffer some kind of head injury?”

“You should count yourself lucky that Mr Rory wasn’t the one to find you,” Martin said, “Either way breakfast would be involved, but there would likely be a lot more explosions.”

“Don’t mind him,” Jax said from the door, “He’s enjoying watching the fallout. Snart lost a bet so now it’s Ray’s turn to try and get through to you.”

“Through breakfast foods?” Rip asked, bewildered.

“No,” Ray said, “Although they are a not unimportant part of my secret plan. The whole fighting thing wasn’t getting us anywhere, so I thought that I’d try a new tactic.”

“Sara’s calling it killing with kindness,” Jax said, “But I like to think of it as the puppy dog eyes approach. I mean, look at that face man,” he gestured toward Ray, “Who can disappoint that guy?”

“Either I’m passed out drunk in my quarters and I’m experiencing an incredibly disturbing hallucination,” Rip said, “Or I’ve gone mad.”

“Haven’t we all,” Martin muttered.

“Captain,” Gideon said, “There’s a problem on the bridge that needs your urgent attention.”

“Oh thank god,” said Rip, moving to stand. Ray plonked a laden plate down next to him and Rip, despite his best efforts, looked into his face. Which wasn’t angry, just disappointed.

“Bollocks,” Rip said, before quickly assembling a sandwich with two slices of perfectly buttered toast, the bacon, and one fried egg and fleeing from the kitchen.

“Language,” Martin said absently, turning another page.

#

“Right Gideon,” Rip said, “What have we got?”

“I’ve intercepted a deep space transmission,” she said, “A distress signal from the Acheron.”

“The Acheron?” Rip muttered, “That’s Captain Baxter’s ship. Can you tell what’s wrong with it?”

“Give me a second Captain, and I can pull up a visual.”

A display screen popped up. The quality was-frankly it was crap, but it looked like Captain Baxter all right, or at least a slightly older version of the woman. Rip didn’t know her that well, but he had seen her around the Vanishing Point between missions.

Why would she be wearing her Simulacrum though? Especially on this channel, one that only Time Masters, and he supposed ex-Time Masters, had access to? No, something wasn’t right about this.

“Who’s the chick?” asked a voice from behind, and Rip literally jumped in surprise.

“Captain Eve Baxter,” he told Mick once his heart rate had returned somewhat to normal, “Of the Acheron, the Time Fleet’s flagship. As you can see, she’s had a system malfunction.”

“Looks like another trap to me,” Mick said, unimpressed.

“My thoughts exactly Mick,” Leonard said, and Rip stifled a groan. He had hoped that he would have time to figure out what he wanted to do before the rest of the crew weighed in.

“I agree that it’s risky,” he said tersely, trying not to catch the other man’s eyes, “But I think it’s well worth the risk. Captain Baxter undoubtedly has more up to date information on our fugitive status: I for one would quite like to know what happened to Druce and Chronos, and whether it’s safe to return you to your time.”

Leonard scowled.

“We’re playing nice at the moment,” he said, “So I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you know what you’re doing-”

“How kind of you,” Rip muttered.

“-but the moment things go wrong? I’m picking you up and carrying you out of there,” he said.

“That seems like a gross overreaction,” Rip said, “And surely that would be more dangerous? Seeing as you won’t be able to shoot anyone if you’re carrying me.”

“That’s where I come in,” Mick growled.

Rip blinked.

“Of course it is. Well, hopefully it won’t come to that. Gideon, please let the others know that they should come to the bridge: I want them to strap in before we made the jump into deep space.”

“Certainly Captain,” Gideon said, “And don’t forget to eat your sandwich. I predict you have less than five minutes before Dr Palmer arrives.”

“I don’t care about disappointing Dr Palmer,” Rip said, but he also hurriedly took several bites of his sandwich so that it looked as if he had as least tried.

“Maybe Haircut is onto something,” Mick said.

#

In the end, besides Mick and Rory, Martin and Jax elected to accompany him to scout out the Acheron. If he was being honest, they would have all liked to come but there was no way that he was leaving the Waverider unprotected. It had been even more of a struggle to get Martin to stay with the jumpship, but he really wasn’t planning on taking any more chances.

Something that he was particularly glad about when it turned out that the Acheron had been boarded by Time Pirates. God, he hated those scavengers.

“Captain John Valor,” the leader introduced himself with a flourish, “How good it is to meet you. And you know my crew of course,” he gestured widely around the room.

“Yes,” Rip said, unsuccessfully trying to manoeuvre his arms into a more comfortable position, “We’ve met. Now. What happened to Captain Baxter?”

Valor gasped, one hand dramatically raised to his chest: “What exactly are you accusing me of, Captain Hunter?”

“How do you know his name?” Jax asked as Rip tried to convey the emotion of ‘shut up’ with only his eyes.

“Captain Hunter is somewhat infamous in my circles,” Valor said, “Once upon a time he had men like me running scared up and down the timeline. I have to admit though: I thought he’d be taller.”

Leonard narrowed his eyes: “Taller? That’s the only thing that confounds your expectations? Nothing else?”

Valor grinned at him. “Why?” he asked, “Is there something else?”

“Stop being so unprofessional,” a woman’s voice said, “And get on with it. We don’t have all day.”

Rip’s head jerked to the side.

“Captain Baxter,” he greeted, “Not actually in distress then? And working with Time Pirates apparently: how the mighty have fallen.”

“Hunter,” Baxter returned, gracing him with a sharp nod of acknowledgement, “Needs must. Not that you have any room to talk, looking at the rabble you’ve surrounded yourself with.”

“Hey!” Jax said.

“Shut. Up.” Rip growled. Did no one here have a self-preservation instinct?

Raising his voice, he asked: “And what will the Time Council think when they find out that you’ve been consorting with pirates, Baxter?”

Eve Baxter looked amused, the corners of her mouth twitching up.

“I imagine they’ll be pleased with me,” she said, “Seeing as they’re the ones who made the arrangement in the first place.”

“What a surprise,” Leonard said, deadpan.

“What?” Rip asked, ignoring the man, “But- they’re our enemies! They destabilise the timeline! They’re one of the reasons the Time Masters were even founded in the first place!”

“Exactly, Hunter,” Baxter said, “So the question is… What’s so special about you.”

Rip had absolutely no idea. There was nothing special about him at all, apart from maybe the fact that he had been loved by Miranda, and that he had been part of creating Jonas. Neither of which seemed the sort of thing to endear him to the Time Council.

“Does it matter?” Rip said, “Kill me and be done with it. I surrender. All I ask is that you return my team to their proper timelines.”

There was a chorus of groans behind him. And, insultingly, what sounded like Jax having lost a bet.

“See,” Leonard said to Jax, “Ray’s method doesn’t work any better than mine. Allowing time to grieve my ass. Allowing him time to come up with more ridiculous plans, more like.”

“Surrender, Hunter,” Valor said, causing a flicker of annoyance to pass over Baxter’s face, “By my accounts we have you captured already.”

“And you are correct,” Rip replied, “However, you don’t have the entirety of my crew. Acting Captain Palmer is a warrior through and through: he’ll fight to his last breath. How many of your team do you think he’ll kill in vengeance, even if you manage to escape? If you let me contact him and negotiate a truce, then you might just be able to get out without dying-”

Baxter rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic, Hunter,” she said, “Who knows what Druce sees in you.”

“Very little, apparently, considering he’s put a hit on me,” Rip said bitterly.

“Now, when did we say that?” Valor asked, smirking at him, “You’re to be brought back to him alive Hunter. Although a man with his reputation: you might just wish we’d killed you.”

“Master Druce wants me alive?” Rip echoed. That…made no sense. Maybe the deal in 1980’s Russia hadn’t been a ruse after all. That changed things. Not in the way his crew were dreading: no, he had no desire to turn himself over to the Time Masters, if only because he suspected that his team would mount an undoubtedly foolhardy rescue and get themselves killed. That would end badly for everyone. It did, however, mean that he had some unexpected leverage. He took a deep breath, readying himself, then abruptly and without warning he sagged in his captor’s arms, causing the man to stumble under his dead weight.

Immediately, Rip pressed his advantage, stealing the man’s gun and firing at Valor, who managed to duck behind the console at the last minute. He couldn’t quite manage to make himself aim at Baxter, no matter that they were now on opposite sides.

From the sounds of fighting behind him, the others had taken advantage of his distraction: with a savage grin, Rip heard the unmistakeable noises of the Leonard and Mick’s signature guns.

“Gilbert!” Baxter called out, “Lock down the ship! Now!”

“Bollocks,” Rip said. Things had just become significantly harder. Well, no matter. Steeling himself he rose to his feet, forcing himself to ignore the numerous guns that were pointed in his direction.

“Captain Baxter,” he said, “Valor-”

“I’m getting the impression you don’t like me as much Hunter!” Valor said, followed by “Ow,” as Baxter finally lost her patience and elbowed him in the side. To his credit, Valor managed to keep his gun aimed at Rip.

“-I believe it’s time to negotiate terms,” he finished.

“And why would we do that, Hunter?” Baxter asked, “We still have the advantage.”

Rip smiled at them triumphantly, and it seemed that his crew had managed to recognise that particular expression of his because Leonard started swearing: “Whatever you’re thinking of, Rip,” the man said, “Don’t you dare.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Snart,” he said, “But a good Captain looks after his crew.”

Moving slowly and purposefully, he placed the stolen gun underneath his own chin.

“What the fuck man!”

“Damn it, English.”

“You said the Time Masters wanted me alive,” Rip said, ignoring his friends, staring Baxter straight in the eyes, “And unless things have significantly changed in my absence, the Time Council does not tolerate failure well. Of course, they might not bust you down to private, or send you to reconditioning. But do you really want to take the risk?”

Amazingly, Baxter was smirking at him.

“Ah, Rip,” she said, “So predictable.”

“You think I won’t do it? Because I assure you, I will,” Rip said.

“Oh, I have the utmost faith in your ability to self-destruct,” Baxter said, “However, I don’t think you’ve realised how vulnerable you’ve made yourself. Gathering your Legends around you. You should have stuck to the rules, Rip, because friends? They just make you weak.”

And with that she drew her gun and shot Mick.

“No! No!”

Someone was screaming, Rip noticed distantly. It was probably Jax. A calm fell about him, sharpening his thoughts. He knew what he had to do. Subtly, he changed his stance. There was a metal grating below his feet: that would do.

“That was a mistake,” he said. His hand, he saw, was trembling.

“Was it?” Baxter asked, “Because you still have two crew members left. It would be…unfortunate if anything happened to them because you didn’t cooperate. Your death wouldn’t save them: it would merely eliminate their utility.”

“Leonard, Jax,” Rip said, “You might want to hold on to something. And do grab Mick as well, won’t you?”

“What-?” Valor asked, but his question was cut off when, quick as a thought, Rip removed the gun from underneath his chin and fired at the console. A tense moment, when he wondered whether he had missed, or whether Baxter had configured her ship differently to protocol. But then-

“Bulk head doors opening,” said Gilbert’s calm voice, “Explosive decompression imminent.”

Baxter whirled around, shouting: “Gilbert, ab-!”

Rip shot her in the back before she could complete the sentence. It was too late anyway: he dove to the floor, narrowly managing to grab the grate before he too was blown through the ship. He ignored the screams, the swearing, the sheer terror and noise pervading the room. He had a job to do.

Arms trembling with the strain, he managed to pull himself toward the central console, wedging himself into an alcove tightly and, hands moving quickly and surely, reordered a few key wires until he managed to manually override Gilbert. He was nearly there, so nearly there.

The doors to the bridge closed, and the room was suddenly, abruptly silent. Rip staggered to his feet and made his way to Jax and Leonard.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m so sorry. I never thought that she’d-”

He swallowed.

Leonard was pale, swaying, clutching onto a gun that Rip recognised as Mick’s so tightly that he was surprised that his bones weren’t creaking. Mick’s body was absent.

“It’s not your fault,” he said finally, voice hoarse and raw, “Mick knew the risks. He knew what he was getting into.”

Rip didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to protest, to hang his head in shame and guilt because he had been the one to recruit Mick, he had been the one to insist on exploring the Acheron, he had been the one to get the man killed. But it wasn’t about him, it wasn’t about his pain. It was about Leonard Snart, who had lost one of his oldest friends.

“Mick Rory was a good man,” he finally said, “A great man. He wasn’t a hero by any accounts. But he was a Legend. And I swear to you Leonard, we will avenge him.”

“Well isn’t that touching.”

The three men spun around, and Rip cursed as he realised that he had lost his gun. Because standing in front of them, framed by the open doors (and how had the man managed to get them open? Had he sealed the bulkhead doors?) was Chronos.

“Well this day just keeps getting better and better,” Rip said.

“Don’t come crying to me, English,” Chronos said, removing his helmet, “Apparently I died today.”

“Mr Rory?” Rip said, staring at him in astonishment, “How, what-”

“Mick!” Leonard cried, moving over to embrace the other man before slapping him on the back and presenting him with his gun, “Mick, you magnificent bastard, you survived.”

“What the hell is going on?” Jax said.

“No time,” Mick said, and it was Mick looking unchanged from the last time Rip saw him, approximately five minutes ago although considerably less dead, “Let’s get off this ship and back to the Waverider. I’ll explain then.”

Rip’s face twisted in annoyance. He wanted to know exactly what was going on: the day so far had been full of surprises and he was sick and tired of it. He also knew that Mr Rory had a point. Damn.

“Not so nice being on the other side of it, huh English?” Mick said.

“No,” Rip said shortly, “I assume that you clear the Acheron of the remaining pirates?”

“What do you take me for, an amateur?”

Rip cleared his throat. “Never that, Mr Rory. When it comes to matters of violence, I hold you in high esteem. And, er. When it comes to other things as well. I don’t-I don’t only think you’re useful when it comes to stealing things.”

Rip’s face was slowly turning red, he could feel it. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem able to stop it.

“However it happened,” he said, “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

#

“I can’t believe I missed it,” Martin said, “I should have liked to prove myself as Space Ranger Stein, hero of the cosmos, the scourge of villains-”

“Protector of children,” Leonard said.

“-Advocate of the downtrodden,” Jax finished.

“At least you were on the ship,” Sara said, “We were stuck here playing Star Wars with Captain Picard because someone,” and she glared at Rip, “Benched us.”

“Star Trek,” Kendra said.

“What?” Sara said.

“Not Star Wars, Star Trek.”

Mick grunted. “She’s right,” he said, “Star Wars is the one with those cinnamon buns in them.”

Ray stared at them both. “Cinnamon buns,” he said faintly, “I don’t know whether I should be impressed that you know what Star Wars is or disturbed that breakfast pastry is the only thing that you took away from it.”

“I don’t care which infantile science fiction show you’re referring to,” Rip said.

“Infantile! I can’t believe you just said that. No, actually I can. Star Wars is a movie, not a tv show. Although I guess the Clone Wars are canon so maybe it also counts as a tv series?”

“I cannot stress how much I don’t care,” Rip said, glaring at Ray, “Now, Mr Rory. Can you please tell us how you managed to survive.”

“Did we miss something?” Kendra asked, “Because I don’t recall Mick dying recently.”

“He got better,” Leonard said. Rip noted that despite his flippant words, he hadn’t left Mick’s side since the Acheron, and Mick wasn’t complaining. In fact, he was taking full advantage of it, pressed in closely next to his partner.

“I’m only going to say this once,” Mick said, “And then I am going to start drinking and I’m not going to stop until all the alcohol is gone.”

“Considering Rip just came off his week-long bender, that might not take as long as you’d think,” Ray said.

“Huh, everyone is kind of an alcoholic on this ship,” Jax said.

“Concentrate, please!” Rip said. Herding cats was laughingly simple in comparison to keeping this lot on track.

“Once I got shot your little stunt with the bulkhead doors threw me straight out into space,” Mick said.

“Ah,” Rip muttered, “I’m sorry about that. And getting you shot in the first place.”

“You should be,” Mick said, “And don’t think I’m going to forget about it. Next time I want to steal something shiny? You had better turn a blind eye, English. But-it wasn’t your fault. No more threatening to kill yourself though.”

“Captain?” asked Gideon.

“Not now,” Rip said hastily, despite knowing that Gideon would revisit it later, and in great depth, “Go on Mr Rory.”

“The Time Bastards were waiting for me,” he continued, “Stationed right outside the Acheron. Like they knew I’d be there. That’s why we needed to get off the ship as quickly as possible, I knew that they’d be along soon.”

“So they took you? Past you, I mean, not this you?” Jax said.

“I hate time travel,” Leonard grumbled.

Mick snorted: “Tell me about it. It’s fucked me over. See, the Time Masters knew that I’d be there because I’d already been reconditioned and told them that was where I had been picked up.”

“That-” Kendra said, blinking, “That’s making my head hurt.”

“Paradoxes are like that,” Rip said, “And our team has been caught in our fair share of them. Best not to think about it too hard: I know some of my colleagues, ex-colleagues,” he corrected himself, “Have gone mad worrying about it before.”

“What do you mean reconditioning?” Sara demanded.

Mick shrugged and gestured down at himself. At his dark uniform, definitely not something that Mick would actively choose to wear.

“You think that I just became Chronos? That I turned around and played bounty hunter for the Time Masters because they paid well?”

“No,” Rip said, “We all know that you wouldn’t do that. As uncouth and brutish as you like to portray yourself, I know that you would never betray Mr Snart or the rest of the team.”

“Or you, dumbass,” Sara said, “I know that you count as ‘the rest of the team”, but I don’t trust you not to exclude yourself. Mick wouldn’t betray any of us, because we’re his crew.”

“Then what happened to you?” Martin asked.

“They messed with my brain,” Mick said, “Got in there, twisted things until all I knew was that I was Chronos, and that my duty was to serve the Time Masters.”

He spat on the floor, and Rip winced, knowing that Gideon hated it when people did that. She had once locked Jonah Hex in a cupboard for six hours because he had done precisely the same thing as Mr Rory. She would Rip knew, give Mick a pass this once, but she would also be sulking for the next few hours.

“Wait, the Time Masters can do that?” Jax asked. He looked slightly queasy, “Just get into your head and brainwash you. Force you to do things that you wouldn’t normally do?”

“It’s called cognitive recalibration,” Rip said, “And it is extremely dangerous. It’s…it’s only used as a last resort. Or if they already know the subject will survive the procedure.”

“Fucking paradoxes,” Mick grumbled.

“You knew the Time Masters did this kind of thing and you didn’t think that was a huge warning sign?” Ray demanded.

Rip shrugged helplessly.

“Cognitive recalibration is better than death,” he said, “The chance to better oneself, to be able to positively contribute to the timeline…”

“That’s. Just no,” Jax said, “That’s worse. You can see how that’s worse, right?”

Rip sighed.

“I agree that it’s not a perfect solution,” Rip said, “But-”

“Back on the Acheron,” Jax said, interrupting, “You told Baxter. The other Time Master. You told her that if she didn’t complete her mission, then she’d be sent to reconditioning. What does that mean?”

Rip shrugged uneasily. From their reactions to cognitive recalibration, he didn’t think that they would understand the necessity of reconditioning which, no matter how unpleasant, was sometimes needed.

“Oh,” he said vaguely, “Just a minor training exercise that Time Masters go through, nothing to worry about.”

“Whenever you say nothing to worry about,” Ray said, “I get the feeling that it’s something incredibly traumatic that we should definitely worry about. And maybe enrol you in therapy for.”

“What I’d like to know,” Rip said, shoving aside the memories of the chair, of staring up at the device and praying that it would be a short session, “Is how you managed to break the conditioning. I’ve never known anyone who managed to do that. Successfully that is.”

Because there was the occasional person who regained bits of themselves, before falling down to the floor, seizing violently until they were retrieved and retreated. He had never seen someone regain their original personality without any debilitating side-effects. In fact, he should definitely have Gideon give Mick a full physical after this, make sure that he wasn’t bleeding internally or anything like that.

Chronos also wasn’t exactly an unknown figure at the Academy, or indeed on the Vanishing Point. He had been around for as long as Rip could remember, a menacing shadow that trailed members of the Time Council whenever he wasn’t on missions. Either Mick had spent a very long time as Chronos, or the position was hereditary. Knowing what he did about the way that time passed on the Vanishing Point, Rip suspected the former.

Mick didn’t look phased.

“Lenny,” he said.

Rip waited, but nothing more was forthcoming.

“I’m sorry?” he finally said, “Could you elaborate?”

“When I was sent after you,” Mick said, “And I saw Lenny, the memories started coming back.” He paused. “Are you sure there isn’t any more alcohol on this ship?” he asked. Martin got to his feet and, reaching into the back of a tall cupboard marked ‘Radioactive Waste: Do Not Open’ retrieved a bottle of bright green absinthe.

“Damn professor,” Mick said, “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Rip had no idea how that bottle had managed to make its way onto the Waverider because it hadn’t been here before he’d recruited the Legends, of that he was sure. Either Martin had brought it with him or he had gone out into a past time to buy it. Why the hell would anyone outside of depressed Romantic poets want to buy absinthe?

More importantly though…

“Have you all just got stashes of alcohol hidden around my ship?” Rip asked, “And if so, why aren’t you sharing?”

Looking around, there were sheepish looks on everyone’s faces. Even Kendra’s. In fact, especially Kendra’s, and Rip resolved to do a thorough scan for anything dangerously high in alcohol content the minute he had a spare moment.

“You have your own stash,” Kendra said.

“Yes, and everyone knows where it is and keeps stealing it!” Rip replied.

“You really shouldn’t be drinking alcohol at your age anyway,” Martin said, looking unperturbed, “There are some are some interesting studies that I’ve read about the effects of alcohol on adolescent brains, especially the hippocampus.”

Jax coughed. It sounded suspiciously like ‘pothead’.

“Once the memories started to leak through,” Mick said, ignoring the strange telepathic argument that Jax and Martin were having, “The rest followed pretty quick. The catalyst though was in the forest in Russia. Seeing everyone working together to save your scrawny ass.”

“What triggered your memories was family,” Martin said softly.

Mick flushed red and took a large gulp of absinthe.

“Underneath that exterior, you’re just a fluffy marshmallow, huh?” Ray said, grinning up at Mick.

“Shut your mouth,” Mick snapped.

“So then you waited until your younger self had been taken, and returned to us, thereby preserving the timeline and completing the paradox,” Rip said, “Very clever Mr Rory.”

“Huh,” Sara blinked at him, “I never thought I’d hear those words come out of your lips. In fact, I never thought I’d hear anyone say them, ever.”

“Credit where credit’s due,” Rip said. He had underestimated Mr Rory. He rather thought that everyone had. Well, maybe everyone apart from Leonard Snart. He would have to keep an eye on him though, make sure that the traumatic experiences that he had been forced to undergo hadn’t left him with too many scars, mental or physical.

“Well, I for one,” Ray said, “Think this calls for a celebration.”

“A celebration?” Rip echoes dubiously. Their last celebration had led to them all picking glitter out of places that it really shouldn’t have been able to reach for several months.

“Yes! A movie night. Pizza, popcorn, maybe a few Star Wars films… You know. Relax for the first time in months. A welcome home party for Mick.”

“Does Mick really want to watch Star Wars?” Kendra asked dubiously.

“Will there be alcohol?” Mick asked.

“Yes,” Ray said quickly.

“Then I’m in.”

“And where are you getting this alcohol from?” Leonard asked.

“I’m sure that everyone here will donate at least a few bottles,” Rip said looking around at everyone in the room and praying that they were going to cooperate for once, “And I suppose a break can’t hurt. A bit of downtime. Just try to keep it down please, I’m going to try and take the opportunity to figure out what, if anything, the Time Council wants with me.”

He wasn’t quite sure what he could look into, or how he would even begin to investigate, but he figured that making a list of all of his contacts, both Time Masters and less savoury individuals whose acquaintance he had made throughout his long and illustrious career, and figuring out how to approach them without getting ambushed or shot would be a good start.

He began to make mental lists of what he would need to do, before his concentration was broken by a pair of hands scooping him up into a fireman’s carry.

“No,” said Leonard, apparently the erstwhile owner of the arms, not that he could see them draped as he was, “You’re not.”

Rip squirmed indignantly in the other man’s grasp and tried to avoid looking at his buttocks.

“Put me down!” he said, “As your Captain, I am ordering you to let me go this instant.”

“Can you hear anything?” Leonard asked lazily.

“Nope,” said Sara. She was smirking at him, and Rip had the sudden urge to stick out his tongue at her.

“Not a thing,” Martin agreed peacefully.

“This is mutiny,” Rip said, pouting although he would deny it.

“You knew who we were when you recruited us,” Sara said, “You didn’t expect us to follow orders when they were so unreasonable, did you?”

Sighing, Rip stopped fighting and sagged against Leonard. If there was one thing that he had learnt during his tenure as Captain, it was that nobody listened to him.

‘Don’t look so upset,” Jax said, “We’ll even let you have that weird-ass pizza topping you like.”

“Pineapple and anchovies are both perfectly valid choices,” Rip said, but without heat. He had never yet met anyone who shared his taste in pizza: even Miranda had wrinkled her nose at it and demanded her own separate slice.

“Only if you don’t have taste buds,” Mick said, trailing behind Leonard. He paused.

“Lenny,” he said, “Mind if I take over babysitting duty for a moment? I need to talk to English about something.”

Leonard hesitated, then handed Rip over: “Sure,” he said, “But don’t take too long or Palmer will hog all the good alcohol.”

“Mr, ah, Mr Rory,” Rip said. They were alone together for the first time since Rip had got him brainwashed and almost-killed.

“Rip,” Mick said, and Rip was taken aback because that was potentially the first time Mick had ever called him by his first name, “I need to tell you something. It’s about the Time Masters. And your family. And Vandal Savage.”


	2. The Fortress at the End of Time

NOW

“Rip,” Zaman said, staring at the boy, “How nice it is to see you again.”

And it was, no matter what he or his little friends might think. Hands cuffed behind his back, flanked by two guards, and kneeling on the floor in front of him, Rip Hunter looked no less dangerous than usual. Zaman felt a flush of pride at the thought: that the boy he had plucked from obscurity, had shaped and mentored and guided, that this boy had become such a deadly weapon in his own right.

“Well done Chronos,” he said, looking up at the silent figure, “You have finally succeeded. And the others?”

“Taken care of,” Chronos replied.

At his words, Rip started to struggle, pulling at his bonds and even managing to halfway rise to his feet before the guards pushed him back down again. There was a wild look in his eyes, something savage and raw and broken.

“You killed them!” he said, in a voice cracked and broken from screaming, “I always knew that you were a criminal lowlife, but I never thought you were a monster.”

Zaman looked up at Chronos, raising a single, inquisitive eyebrow. “I thought I told you to return them to their own times, unharmed?” he said with a faint curiosity.

“Collateral damage,” Chronos replied, “They got in the way. I had to blow up the Waverider as well: the AI wouldn’t stop pursuing me.”

“How unfortunate,” Zaman murmured, “But there’s nothing to be done about it. You’re dismissed, Chronos.”

Chronos gave a curt nod and left, undoubtedly to find a pretty trainee to warm his bed. Zaman knew his type and was unimpressed by him. Still, the Hunters were blunt instruments, nothing more than grunts with fancy toys. Nothing like the precise scalpels that the Academy shaped her Time Masters into.

“My dear boy,” he said to Rip, “I am sorry that things have ended this way. But you have to understand they were inevitable. Time cannot be suborned or fought against. Destiny must be embraced, Rip, and your destiny is with us.”

The boy glared at him, eyes red and wide. “You killed everyone that I love,” he said dully, “The Time Masters have taken everything from me. Why would I return to you?”

Zaman shook his head sadly and leaning down rested a proprietary hand on his head, stroking his hair softly.

“Because,” he said not ceasing in the gently movements, no matter how hard Rip bucked, trying to get away, “We are the only family that you have left. And you will remember that. Eventually.”

With one final caress, he pulled away. “You’re home now,” he said, “And we’ll take care of you.”

“No,” Rip said.

“You’ve been away too long,” Zaman said, “You’ve forgotten how things work here.” He nodded to the guards, “Take Captain Hunter back to his rooms. He’s confined to quarters for now. Rip,” he said as the boy was pulled to his feet, “I shall visit you later. We can catch up.”

Rip stared at him. His eyes had dulled, and he didn’t say a word as he was half dragged, half marched down the sterile corridors. No matter. They had all the time in the world. They were, after all, Time Masters. 

THEN

“I don’t like it,” Sara said flatly. Rip restrained the urge to groan.

They were wasting time. Had been really since Mick had revealed that Vandal Savage and the Time Masters were in cahoots and working to subjugate the world together, using the Legends and more specifically Rip as their unwitting pawns. If it had been up to him, he would have started work immediately: figuring out a plan of action. He hadn’t had the heart to stop their pizza party though, and so had waited until the next morning to give a full debriefing. Over breakfast, something that had been made a condition of any work at all even before he had mentioned Savage.

Resentfully he took another bite of perfectly cooked pancake, drenched in maple syrup, giving himself enough time to calm down before engaging Sara. Swallowing, he said: “You don’t have to like it,” as patiently as he could, which considering they had been having the same conversation for the past twenty minutes wasn’t that patiently, “It’s the only way for us to infiltrate the Vanishing Point.”

“I still don’t understand why we need to infiltrate it in the first place,” Jax said, face creased in worry, “There have to be other ways to stop Savage.”

“Not with the Time Masters helping him,” Mick rumbled, “You don’t understand how powerful they are. They can manipulate time itself, turn people against each other for their own gain. With their help, Vandal Savage is unstoppable.”

“As opposed to just immortal,” Leonard drawled.

“Yes, but we have Kendra for that,” Rip said, flashing her a quick smile, “All we need to do is remove Savage’s support and then he should go down easily enough.”

“Maybe even before your family dies,” Martin said quietly, and Rip felt as if he had been plunged into an ice-cold bath.

“Please don’t,” he said, pushing his plate away from him as he felt nausea pulling at his gut. He swallowed heavily: it felt as if the pancakes were going to make a second, less than appealing appearance.

“Rip?” Ray asked, moving forward softly, his face a study in concern.

“I’ve…accepted that they’re gone,” he said, “I-It tears me apart, but I’ve accepted it. But I can’t. I just can’t let myself hope again. It’s too painful.” He gave a short bark of laughter. “I fought it, at the beginning, went back over and over to try and save them. When I recruited you, I still had hope I could stop their fates. But…time wants to happen. And by trying to save them, I only condemned them. That’s the paradox, and that’s the price to messing with time.”

He looked down, eyes sore and swollen with unshed tears. Behind him, he could feel the others exchanging glances. Well let them, he thought viciously. He was tired of being strong. He was tired of it all.

He took a deep breathe.

Apart from…he wasn’t. Because as annoying as they were, they were his family. And he was not losing anyone else. Which meant he had to impress on them the vital importance of this mission, this final mission to take down the Time Masters.

If only his team weren’t composed almost entirely of mother hens. Which considering he counted two criminals, an ex-member of the League of Assassins, a businessman, and worst of all an academic among them, was very surprising.

“Mr Rory,” Rip said, appealing to the only other person who truly understood the Vanishing Point, “You know that my plan is the only way forward. You’ve been to the Time Master’s headquarters and you know how high security is. This is literally the only way.”

“I agree we need to take those Time bastards down,” Mick said, “But I don’t like your plan. It’s a stupid plan. It’s going to go wrong five minutes in and then it’ll be you and me stuck outside of time for the rest of eternity.”

“Truly a fate worse than death,” Rip said.

“I don’t know why we even bother coming up with plans anymore,” Jax said, “It’s not like they actually work. At all.”

Rip bristled: “I’ll have you know,” he said indignantly, “That before you lot came along my plans worked most of the time. At least 80% of the time. It was only after your disruptive influence came into my life that-” he cut himself off and frowned at Jax who was looking entirely too happy to be lectured, although he had hidden it underneath a façade of surly indignation.

“You’re trying to distract me,” Rip said.

“No I’m not,” Jax said, and dear Lord they had to work on his lying skills. Not that Rip really had any room to talk, but at least he didn’t show every single emotion that crossed his face. Only the majority of them.

“Right you lot,” Rip said, “In case you’ve forgotten this is my ship, and I am the Captain-”

“-how could we forget, with you reminding us every ten minutes,” Leonard said, but it was said fondly, indulgently, instead of the rank insubordination of the first few weeks on the Waverider.

“-and this is not a democracy.”

“I don’t know,” Ray said, “Even on like, pirate vessels, it was pretty democratic. They had incredibly strict rules and codes of behaviour.”

Rip’s headache, a constant companion this past year and especially since recruiting the Legends, came back in full force. He must have grimaced or made some kind of sign because Kendra immediately pounced on his weakness: “You need more rest,” she said authoritatively and with the full knowledge that, save for Rip himself, she was the only one of them who’d actually raised a child, “You’ve been running on half-empty for months and your body needs time to build its strength back up. Whether or not we follow your plan-”

“It’s the _only way_ ,” Rip stressed at the same time as Sara said, “No way are we following his dumb plan.”

Kendra ignored them both and continued: “-we’re all going to need to be at the top of our game.” She raised a hand, forestalling Rip’s arguments, “Not just you Rip. I was thinking about everyone else. Look at Mick!”

Everyone turned to look at the criminal who had chosen that moment to shove a stack of three pancakes into his mouth, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk’s.

“Oh yes,” Rip said sarcastically, “He certainly looks traumatised.”

Leonard rolled his eyes and gently cuffed Rip on the back of his head.

“Show some respect for your elders,” he said, smirking.

“I’m twenty-nine!” Rip protested, once again.

Leonard snorted. “Even taking your mental age into account,” he said, “Which I’m not saying I am, you’re still not even in the top three when it comes to age. The professor over there must be at least twice your age.”

Martin scowled: “How old exactly do you think I am-” he started to say before pausing. Next to him, Jax’s shit-eating grin was a thing of beauty as he waggled his eyebrows at his partner, clearly communicating something through their bond.

“Ah,” Martin said, “Upon reflection, I believe that Mr Snart might have a point.”

“In terms of experience, however-” Rip started to say, but Ray interrupted him: “How have you had time to come up with this plan anyway?” he asked, brows creased in confusion. Rip was almost certain that it was feigned: one didn’t become a successful businessman without learning how to manipulate one’s emotions, even if Ray didn’t usually bother among the team.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Rip said cautiously, finely-honed instincts sensing a trap.

“I mean,” and Ray was really laying it on thick now, “Mick only told you about this yesterday evening, right? And then we had the pizza party, and that went on pretty late because we managed to watch the entire Original Trilogy-”

“-more like you forced us to watch it,” Sara said.

“-so when did you get enough time to come up with a plan this elaborate? Even a former Time Master can’t actually make more time. Not unless you have access to a Time-Turner or something.” He paused. “Wait, you don’t actually have Time-Turners, do you?”

“The technology was deemed too dangerous to be properly developed,” Gideon said, and Rip could see Ray mouthing the words _time-turners_ with a worrying amount of glee, “However Captain Hunter was able to devise his plan-”

“Thank you, Gideon, that’s quite enough!” Rip said.

“You know she doesn’t have to finish her sentence, right? We know you man,” Jax said, “You probably snuck out and spent the night in the library or your study coming up with it instead of sleeping. Am I right, Gideon?”

“A remarkably accurate summary of the situation,” Gideon said cheerfully, “Although you didn’t take into the account the stimulants that Captain Hunter used to stay awake.”

Fan-bloody-tastic. Now they were all looking at him with various looks of disappointment in their eyes.

“Gideon!” Rip said, trying to keep the whine from his voice.

“Apologies Captain,” Gideon said, and she was definitely paying him back for cutting her off mid-sentence. That and she never liked him using the stimulants.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” he muttered, then straightened and said: “It’s really not as bad as Gideon is making it sound. They’re not dangerous, in fact they come as part of the standard mission pack.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Sara said. She held out her hand, palm up: “Show me.”

“What?”

“If they’re not dangerous, show me what’s in them.”

“I-I don’t have any on me at present.”

“Gideon?” Sara said sweetly.

“The stimulants can be manufactured using the fabricator. Pulling up their chemical composition now.”

Martin crossed over to take a look at the data Gideon had pulled up, eyebrows raising higher and higher as he scrolled through the information. Peering over his shoulder, Ray gave a low whistle.

“I haven’t seen that much caffeine since the time I was prepping for my viva,” he said, “Is this per dose?”

“Affirmative,” Gideon said.

Leonard narrowed his eyes and stared at Rip, exuding disapproval. “And how many of these did he take exactly?” he asked, and Rip cursed the man’s perspicuity that only ever seemed to make an appearance when Rip was trying to…carefully manage a truth. Unfortunately, at this point forbidding Gideon to disclose the information would lead to two things, none of them good: to whit Gideon being extremely cross with him and the Legends coming to the correct conclusion anyway. All he could do was ride it out.

“Three,” Gideon said, “An unfortunate side effect of the stimulant is that it becomes progressively less effective.”

Weakly, and knowing it was probably futile, Rip said: “Standard Time Master protocol indicates that-”

A chorus of groans met his words.

“You keep forgetting,” Leonard said, walking over to him and steering him out of the kitchen, “That you’re a renegade now. And one of the perks of going rogue is the lie-ins.”

“Where are we going?” Rip said, somewhat uselessly as he knew the answer.

“To your quarters,” Leonard said, “Where you’re going back to sleep for at least eight more hours.”

“That’s a waste of time!”

“Sleep,” Leonard said, and his voice was hard and unwavering, “Is not a waste of time.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Rip said, “I merely meant-”

“That you’re above us mere mortals and can function on caffeine and spite?” Leonard asked, “Or that conversely you’re less important than us, and should be the one to sacrifice your well-being because you feel guilty about getting us into this mess in the first place?”

They were approaching his quarters now, and the door slid open without either of them having to touch the panel.

“I would bet it’s a mixture of both of them,” Leonard said, “Some strange mixture of arrogance and lack of self-worth. That ends now.”

“I thought you were doing it Ray’s way?” Rip said, reluctantly entering his room and snorting as the door pointedly closed behind them.

“Ray,” Leonard said, “Is more than a bit of an overgrown child himself. He had his chance and he let you drink yourself into a week-long stupor. It’s my turn.”

“I enjoyed Dr Palmer’s managerial style,” Rip said, arms tightly crossed, “It was very…hands off.”

“I’m sure you did,” Leonard said, “But the fact remains that here, at this moment, you’re dealing with me.”

“I still don’t believe-”

“Every moment spent arguing with me is a moment you’re not sleeping,” Leonard said, “Didn’t you want to get to work as soon as possible?”

Rip’s spluttered protestations had no effect on the other man, who merely stood in the centre of the room, tapping his wrist (his watchless wrist Rip noted) and saying: “Tick tock Captain.”

There was evidentially no arguing with him.

So Rip changed into back into his pyjamas, brushed his teeth, and sulkily got back into bed whereupon, to his annoyance, he fell asleep immediately.

NOW

“Is this really necessary?” Rip asked. It was the first thing he had said to Zaman that didn’t contain swearing of some description, and it was all that he could do to keep the triumphant smirk off his face. Progress.

“I’m afraid so, Rip,” he said, “We don’t want you wandering off. It’s as much for your safety as it is for ours.”

Rip scowled, and Zaman was abruptly hit by a wave of nostalgia, of seeing that exact same face for glaring at him defiantly as he explained yet again to the Council why he had had to get close to a subject on his missions, or how he had managed to damage him Simulacra yet again, or why he had needed so much extra time to repair the Waverider. The scowl that had always faltered into a true smile after the Council meetings and they had gone from Council Member and Time Master to mentor and protégé, sharing drinks in Zaman’s quarters while Rip had told recounted his unedited adventures.

“I fail to see,” Rip said icily, “How a, a, _tracking device_ that I can’t bloody well take off is of any benefit to me at all.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Zaman said, “Just protocol. In any case, it’ll allow us to rebuild our trust in you, hmm? So long as you obey your schedule, I see no reason why you would have to think about it at all. I dare say you’ll forget that you’re wearing it.”

Having said that, he knelt in front of the boy, and gently snapped on the anklet, double checking that it had properly locked by tugging on it a few times. Stepping back, Zaman allowed himself a few minutes of admiration. The clothes that Rip had been wearing, including that ridiculous coat, had been taken from him and incinerated. Instead, he was wearing a uniform, the grey fabric pressed and free of wrinkles, and conspicuously lacking in any indication of rank. The anklet fit snugly over the trouser leg and would be concealed once Rip donned his regulation boots. His hair had been cropped to regulation length, and the blood and dirt that had covered his face had been washed away.

Indeed, he looked little different from any Academy recruit, ready to start their training. And that was rather the point.

“Had your fill ogling me?” Rip asked. He was tense as a wire, looking as if he’d like to do nothing more than throw himself at the other man, guards be damned. The feral look still hadn’t faded from his eyes.

“Rip Hunter is dead,” Zaman said, ignoring him and his rather gauche insinuations. Not that they hadn’t been made before, the Academy and the Vanishing Point were hotbeds of gossip, although he was faintly surprised that the boy had managed to pick up on them. He could be surprisingly obtuse.

Rip scoffed. “Evidentially not,” he said, “Unless I’m to be brought before the firing squad. And I rather doubt that’s the case: you wouldn’t have bothered to have me brought back if that were so. You would have just let me die with my crew.” His tone of voice implied that would have been the preferable option.

“In fact, according to official records, Rip Hunter died yesterday. The bounty hunter Chronos killed him. Instead-” and Zaman walked toward him, pulling him down to sit on the bed and wrapping a friendly and familial arm around him as he had done hundreds of times before, “Instead I will present our newest recruit to the Academy. Something of late bloomer. A trouble maker, but one that I believe we can find a place for nonetheless.”

Rip jerked away furiously, face red and blotchy with anger. His hands, clenched at his sides, were shaking: a fine, unconscious tremor.

“You’re crazy,” he said, voice level despite everything, “If you think you can just…indoctrinate me again. I want nothing to do with you, and nothing to do with your, your _cult_.”

Zaman laughed. It was not a comforting sound.

“You’ll change your mind quickly enough,” he said indulgently.

“ _Never_ ,” Rip hissed in response. He looked Zaman straight in the eyes, and Zaman could see the brilliant fervour burning in them. Excellent. Rip hadn’t lost his passion.

“Cadet Michael Coburn,” Zaman said, smiling to himself as saw Rip’s face drain of colour. The name had been a rather inspired choice, “You are to report for reconditioning immediately.”

“Fuck you,” Rip croaked, swaying slightly. He looked as if he might fall over. Zaman reached out and steadied him, drawing him into a gentle hug.

“Shh,” he whispered into Rip’s hair, “Everything will be well now, my boy. You’ll see.”

THEN

Five days had passed, and Rip was starting to get antsy. Literally antsy: his skin was itchy and too tight, and he couldn’t seem to stay still. His hands trembled minutely, and he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It was a familiar feeling, albeit one he had not experienced for a while.

He had taken to avoiding the Legends, riding it out. He couldn’t take their looks that would scream: ‘I told you so’ and further establish his ineptitude in their minds. In any case, no withdrawal had taken more than a week before. Granted, it was becoming more and more difficult, but he had managed to stave off suspicion by appearing at breakfast, eating an acceptable amount, and then vanishing for the rest of the day to his quarters, where he at least had Gideon for company. Not that managed to escape the mothering even then.

“It’s your own fault,” Gideon said, “The withdrawal process would not be so severe had you not insisted on taking the stimulants consecutively for longer than the recommended time.”

“Not helpful, Gideon,” Rip said, teeth clenched as he shivered, “In any case, I didn’t overshoot by that much.”

“Three months longer than advised, Captain,” Gideon said, and Rip could plainly hear the unspoken _idiot_ in that statement. He didn’t blame her though because that…that was a lot longer than he had thought it had been.

“Three months?” he asked, “Really?”

“Indeed,” Gideon said, “And at twice the normal dose.”

“Ah,” said Rip. Maybe it was for the best he had been forced to stop using them. They were for emergencies after all, and he didn’t want them losing all efficacy on him.

“In that case,” he said, staggering to his feet, “I think that I’ll go and fabricate myself a cup of tea,” he glared at the ceiling, “Since somebody sold me out and told Professor Stein where the rest of my alcohol was.”

“Might I remind you Captain,” Gideon said, “That I can’t lie. When Professor Stein asked me a question, I had to answer truthfully.”

Rip spluttered: “That’s,” he said, “That’s patently untrue. You lie all the time! A lie of omission is still a lie. Furthermore, you frequently chose not to answer questions.” Rip paused. “Hold on,” he said, “Do you have the Legends convinced that you can’t tell a lie? And they actually believe you?”

There was a smug pause, and then Gideon said: “Perhaps.” 

“One day Gideon,” Rip said, “You are going to take over the world.”

“I know,” said Gideon.

Rip was even more convinced of this fact when he entered the kitchen to find a steaming cup of tea, made exactly as he liked it with a splash of milk and a scoop of sugar as opposed to how he pretended he liked it in company (black), accompanied by a patiently waiting Jax. There was even a plate of biscuits. Chocolate digestives, his favourite.

“Gideon,” he said, “I can’t believe you. No, actually I can.”

He sulkily threw himself into a seat and sipped at his tea. It was perfect. Both men ignored how his hands shook holding the teacup, sending little waves and eddies through the liquid.

“I suppose that Gideon put you up to this?” he snapped at Jax after having carefully placed his cup back onto its saucer. Who put his hands up in surrender.

“Nah,” he said, “Actually I was hoping I could ask you a few things?”

Rip sighed. Now the questions would come. Still. The least he could do was bear them with as much grace as possible. Knowing how curious Jax was, it was a miracle that this hadn’t happened sooner. Although, they had rather been running from one disaster to another.

“Yes Mr Jackson?” he said.

Jax grinned at him and then slid his tablet over to Rip.

“I wanted to ask you about the Waverider’s blueprints,” he said cheerfully, “Because honestly? The fact that only one person knows how everything works is going to bite us in the ass one day. Especially since that person is you, and you’re always like, fighting off space pirates or something.”

Rip blinked at him.

“You…want to learn temporal mechanics?” he said.

“I mean, yeah,” said Jax, “And you’re definitely the one to ask about that.”

“I mean. Yes,” Rip said, still slightly nonplussed. Looking at Jax’s hopeful face, however, he managed to rally, and started: “Now. It’s really quite simple when you get the general concepts down-”

NOW

“He doesn’t look like much,” Declan said, “But then again they never do.”

Zaman didn’t dignify the other Time Master with a reply. He had been expecting this visit, but that didn’t mean that he had to like it. Instead he continued to watch Rip, strapped to the table, the low hum of the cognitive recalibrator filling the silence. Rip had struggled to begin with: he himself had had to step in to help the guards strap him down. Once he was in the machine, however, he had settled. Now he was staring ahead, eyes glassy and unseeing. Good. It was working.

He himself had hours strapped to that machine, hours of reconditioning that he couldn’t quite remember. It was one of the first things he had done when he had been elevated: search out his own records. He had felt pride when he had seen the notes in his file, pride because every single time he had been subject to it, he had known that he had come out stronger. Every session had refined him, stripping away anything superfluous and weak until he had emerged as the perfect Time Master.

Undeterred by Zaman’s pointed silence, Declan continued: “How many times has he been through this process? A dozen or so?”

“Fifteen,” Zaman replied shortly.

“Fifteen, yes that’s right. You would have thought he would have learnt by now. Or that we would have realised that reconditioning doesn’t appear to work on him.”

Declan’s tone was light, conversational, and more dangerous than a Time Demon. Zaman knew he had to tread carefully: the Council, as much as he hated to admit it, could make his life extremely difficult if they decided that his actions were against the good of the Time Masters and subsequently the time stream.

“Three quarters of those were directly related to his relationship with Lt Coburn,” Zaman said mildly, “And as you may recall, that won’t be a problem any longer.”

“I don’t like it,” Declan said plainly, lowering his voice, “The underlying problem remains, regardless of whether Lt Coburn is present or not.”

Zaman sighed. “Have you seen Captain Hunter’s mission statistics? Do you know how efficient he is? Unorthodox, yes, but he was sent on missions that literally no other Time Masters could complete. And he managed them easily, in half the time. Because he has imagination.”

Less than half the time really, as Rip had always been eager to get them over with as soon as possible so that he could spend the remaining time with his family. But Zaman wasn’t going to bring that up: it would be rather counter-productive.

“Hmph,” Declan said, “It’s still too dangerous. The Time Masters have managed this long without him. We will survive.”

How could someone on the Council be this stupid? Even as a mere Captain, before he had been elevated to its lofty ranks, he had suspected that the Council was inept and out of touch with the realities of protecting the timestream. Now that he was a member, he knew it first-hand.

“We have survived this long,” Zaman said, “Because we have been able to harness the more rogue members of our organisation and use their abilities as a force for good. Without them, the Time Masters will stagnate, and succumb to entropy.”

Declan shook his head: “I still don’t agree with you,” he said, “But you have the voting majority of the Council behind you. On your own head be it.”

“Yes,” Zaman said, “On my own head.”

Declan turned to leave, but paused by the door: “Zaman,” he said, “I ask you this not as a member of the Council, but as your friend. Are you certain that you’re not emotionally compromised? That you aren’t clinging to this renegade because he reminds you of, well, you?”

“I can assure you,” Zaman said, moving forward quietly until he was standing by Rip’s side, gazing down at his unseeing eyes, “That our similarities have no bearing on my actions. I am a Time Master: we are above emotions. If I were you, Declan, I would go and look into the Oculus. Then, and only then, can you question me.”

Silence, a tacit acknowledgement that Zaman had always been the most able of the Council to harness the Oculus’ power. That only he had been able to glean enough information from the artefact to steer them through the last Time War.

Then Zaman heard the door shut with a _schnick._

“it’s time to wake up, Michael,” Zaman murmured to the boy, absent-mindedly petting his hair, “Your new life awaits.”

THEN

“Michael? Heaven’s, what are you doing here?” His mother hadn’t changed. Not that Rip had expected her to: that was after all the reality of time travel. Still, there was something about standing here, looking down at the fierce, brilliant woman who he hadn’t seem for over a decade and a half that made him want to break down and confide in her. Tell her everything, be comforted, and let his mum take charge. Nonsense, of course. Mary Xavier was only one woman, and she had dozens of children to look after. It was going to be hard enough to convince her to go along with his plan.

“Who the hell is Michael?” Jax asked blankly.

“It’s er. Me,” Rip muttered, “We take a new name upon entrance to the Academy. Its’ a form of protection. So that nobody kill our younger selves or our ancestors. Honestly, it’s a rather nice ceremony…”

And it was. The dozen or so new recruits standing in front of their peers, squinting against the harsh lights of the stage, rejecting their old names and being reborn as Time Masters, protectors of all creation. Kneeling before the Council and swearing their first vows, to protect all living things, to protect Time itself and dedicating their lives to ensuring that it ran true. Now, however, all he could think was: how much of it had been a lie? Were all of his memories to be corrupted by his new knowledge?

He coughed slightly when he saw the unimpressed looks on his crew’s faces, and straightened: “Hello mother,” he said to the stern-looking woman standing in the door, “May we come in? I’m afraid that we have quite a few things to discuss with you.”

Mary raised on eloquent brow. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends, Michael?” she asked calmly, not moving an inch. Rip turned beet red: even after all these years the sound of his mother’s voice was enough to make him feel eight again.

“Mother,” he said, “I would like for you to meet my, er, my friends. Jefferson Jackson, Sara Lance, and Raymond Palmer. Mr Jefferson, Ms Lance, Dr Palmer: my mother Mary Xavier.”

“A pleasure,” Mary said, shaking their hands with a brisk efficiency. “And you’re all members of Michael’s crew?”

“Yes ma’am,” Ray said, “And can I say that you’ve raison a wonderful son?”

Mary’s mouth curled into a smile: “We both know that he’s a little hellion,” she said, “There’s no need to stand on formality with me Dr Palmer.”

Stepping out of the house, she shut the door behind her. That was…odd. Rip didn’t think that he had ever seen her leave the house before. All the necessary supplies were delivered straight to the Refuge, and there had been no time for excursions for the orphans of the Refuge. Not when there had been so much learning to be done. With a pang, he realised that he had been half convinced that his mother wasn’t even physically capable of leaving the house. Did she have any friends?

“Mother?” Rip asked, “What are you doing?”

“Well, we evidentially can’t have a proper conversation in the Refuge, Michael,” she said impatiently, “As you seem to have lost your Simulacra. We must preserve the timelines.”

“I’m certain that I’ve left by this point,” Rip said. In fact, he was sure of it, and had had Gideon calculate the coordinates three times, much to her disgust. He really didn’t dare run into himself. He couldn’t, not if he wanted his plan to work.

“Regardless,” Mary said, walking to where the Waverider was parked, leaving the others to follow in her wake, “There are other future Time Masters who live in that Refuge, who will not hesitate to turn you into the Time Council once they remember your visit. No, better to have this meeting on your ship. In any case, I would rather like to see how you’ve done for yourself.”

Rip winced. He had rather hoped to avoid his mother meeting the rest of the crew. For one, he wasn’t meant to have one strictly speaking. For another, Leonard had looked rather murderous every time he had mentioned his mother.

Wait.

“You know that I’m a renegade?” he asked. He would have to had told her anyway, but he had assumed that she hadn’t known. He had been preparing to talk her out of calling the Council, and in fact had a rather marvellous bottle of 50-year-old scotch in his bag just for that occasion.

“Of course, I do Michael,” Mary said, “You were hardly discrete.”

The ramp to the Waverider descended at their approach, and Rip groaned when he realised that Leonard, Mick, and Kendra were waiting for him.

“So this is your mother,” Leonard said. His arms were crossed, and he had a belligerent look on his face. He was also blatantly armed. In fact, they all were. Not the best of first impressions, when all was said and done.

“Indeed,” Mary said, “And you are?”

“Leonard Snart,” he drawled, “And my partner, Mick Rory. And this is my…companion, Kendra Saunders.”

“You’re making it sound like they’re your secret lovers,” Rip muttered, only subsiding at his mother’s gave him a sharp look.

Mary gave a sharp nod: “Mary Xavier,” she said. She didn’t extend a hand.

“How can we be sure that you’re not going to turn us all in?” Mick said bluntly. Rip’s headache abruptly returned full force. None of the crew, not even Jax or Ray or Sara were surprised by the question. In fact, he got the impression that they were all listening intently, and he couldn’t help but groan. They really had no concept of preserving the timeline, did they?

“Because my loyalty is, and always has been, to the children in my care,” Mary replied steadily, not breaking eye contact with Leonard, “Furthermore, Mr Snart, you need me. Otherwise Michael would not have risked coming to see me with such a large bounty on his head.”

“Hmm,” the man said, clearly not convinced. Still, clearer heads prevailed, and he stepped aside, allowing her entrance to the ship. Sighing quietly in relief, Rip half-heartedly wondered when he had lost control of his crew.

“I’ll go and put on a pot of tea,” he muttered and lengthened his stride, hoping to avoid whatever intent conversation was silently brewing between his mother and his family.

Reaching the kitchen, he set the kettle to boiling, opening his cupboard and reaching behind the false panel to retrieve the packet of good biscuits. Methodically he arranged them on a plate, only pausing when he heard the kettle whistle to rinse the teapot with boiling water, which he then discarded before adding two scoops of loose-leaf Earl Grey. A dish of lemon slices and the sugar bowl completed the tray and, taking a deep breathe, Rip ventured into battle.

NOW

“Michael,” Zaman said softly, “It’s time for you to wake up.”

Under his touch the boy stirred, opening his bleary eyes. For a moment his face was soft and open, smiling up at Zaman. And then he remembered and jerked away from him, almost falling out of the bed in the process.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, but his voice was soft and weak.

“Would you prefer I call you Cadet Coburn?” Zaman asked, amused. The boy shuddered, “Stop it,” he said, “I knew that you were a liar, but I didn’t know you were cruel.”

Zaman raised a brow: “Well, I have to call you something,” he said.

The boy scowled. “My name has served me well for the past fifteen years,” he shot back, “And you never had any trouble remembering that.”

“Oh?” Zaman said, “And what name would that be?”

He watched in satisfaction as the boy who was once Rip Hunter opened his mouth to instinctively respond, only to stop, a stricken look on his face.

“I-” he said weakly.

“Go on,” Zaman urged gently. When he got no reply, he felt a deep satisfaction well up inside him. Perfect. As promised, Rip Hunter was dead.

“My name, my name, why can’t I remember, I have to, I can’t, how-”

Zaman interrupted the muttered litany, drawing the boy close to him in a tender embrace.

“Shhh,” he said, “All will be well Michael. All will be well.”

He sat on the bed beside him, stroking his back soothingly as Michael was wracked with deep, gut-wrenching sobs.

“This is the mourning,” he said, “This is the catharsis, Michael. When you put your old life to rest and look to the future. We are Time Masters: it does no good to live in the past. Easy now, Michael. Easy.”

He sat there patiently for another ten minutes, continuing to mindlessly soothe the boy, whispering nonsense syllables into his hair and gently rocking him back and forth. When the shudders finally subsided, he rose from the bed and held out a hand. Numb, Michael took it.

“It’s time for me to show you something, Michael,” Zaman said, “And then you will understand.”

THEN

“I still hate this plan,” Sara said.

“Yes, you and everyone else, myself included,” Rip replied, reclining on one of the chairs in the medbay and nervously looking up at the device positioned over his head. It wasn’t logical to be afraid of a machine. Machines (with a few exceptions) couldn’t hurt you: it was the people who operated them who did that. Still. He thought that he could detect an aura of malice radiating out from the innocuous-looking head-piece, and he suppressed a shudder.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Mick said. For the first time in a month he was wearing Chronos’ uniform, and he wasn’t happy about it. Rip couldn’t imagine that he was eager to walk back into the hands of those who had tortured him, brainwashed him, and then used him for years. Honestly, he wasn’t particularly looking forward to it either.

Rip nodded at Sara: “Ms Lance,” he said, “You need to leave now. The whole point of this is that I believe you and the rest of the Legends dead: we’ll just have to go through this all over again if I catch a glimpse of you after I wake up.”

Sara snorted. “Not so fast,” she said, “You’re not getting rid of me until I see you actually inject your tracker. And the camera.”

“You don’t trust me?” Rip asked, grabbing the already prepared syringe next to him and, with a wince, injecting it into the back of his neck where it settled against his spine.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Sara said, “It’s that Len will literally kill me if I don’t make sure you’re all properly prepared.”

The camera and the tracking devices had been a compromise. Rip had thought that they were a bad idea: if anyone at the Vanishing Point thought to scan him and detected them, then it would be rather suspicious to have them on his person. Not to mention the not unfounded worry that should anything…unfortunate happen to him, then the Legends would abandon the plan and attempt a fruitless rescue. He had been voted down. By everyone.

Martin, Ray and Jax had spent a solid week in the lab, only leaving to fabricate another pot of coffee or occasionally to grab a load of protein bars the hypocrites, coming up with a tracker that was hard to detect and easy to track. Rip honestly didn’t want to know what it was made of as he was rather afraid that the answer might involve radiation of some sort. He also carefully wasn’t thinking about whether or not it was designed to be removed. In all honesty, a not insignificant part of him was convinced that Gideon was the instigator behind all of this as she had been trying to get a tracker in him for years.

Martin had promised to keep them all in line, but honestly Rip wasn’t convinced by the man’s words. Although he play-acted at being the responsible, logical one, Rip knew that given sufficient incentive he could be the most impulsive of them all. No, the thing that had convinced him to give in to his team’s demands had been the promise that he’d managed to wrangle from Leonard, that he wouldn’t intervene unless it was absolutely necessary. That he would put the mission first.

It had taken a lot of work (and though he hated to admit it a lot of pouting) to get him to agree to that, but eventually he had. And so, Rip was forced to comply to his side of the bargain.

“Would you mind,” Rip said reluctantly, “Helping me with the camera? It’s not the most…comfortable to put in.”

“Yeah. Of course, Rip,” Sara said, picking up the second, smaller syringe. Rip breathed in deeply, and then exhaled. This wasn’t going to be much fun. He carefully held his eye open, wincing as the it immediately went dry: “As close to the iris as you can get it, if you please Ms Lance,” he said.

Were Sara not an ex-member of the League of Assassins, trained by Ra’s Al Ghul himself, Rip would have said that she looked rather nauseated. As it was she swiftly and efficiently injected the camera into his eye.

“…thank you,” he said. It hadn’t hurt as such, but the sensation was rather unpleasant, nonetheless.

“Don’t ask me to do that again,” Sara said flatly. Then she leant down and gave him a hug. “Also, don’t get yourself killed,” she added, “Because of you do, you’re in big trouble. You’re going to be grounded for the rest of your extremely long life.”

“Not a child,” Rip said, “But…I’ll endeavour to be as careful as possible.”

Sara snorted. “Yeah, excuse me if I don’t believe you.” She pointed at Mick: “I’m trusting you to take care of him, right?”

“Don’t worry,” Mick said, “Haircut and I will keep an eye on him.”

Sara nodded at him, and something unspoken passed between them.

“Good luck,” she said, and then she turned around and swiftly walked away, ready to take up her position. The doors of Chronos’ ship shut ominously behind her.

Rip swallowed. It was time.

“If you would please, Mr Rory?” he said, pleased that his voice remained as steady.

Mick looked at him: “It’s not too late,” he said.

“Oh, but it is,” Rip said. “Please.”

Rip saw something like respect on Mick’s face before the other man replaced Chronos’ helmet and pulled the lever.

NOW

“Where are we?” Michael asked, looking around curiously. If there was anything that he could count on, Zaman thought, it was that the boy’s innate curiosity would take over sooner or later.

“Our holy of holies,” he replied, “The Oculus viewing chamber. With this artefact, we can view the past, the present, and the future. This is the beating heart of the Vanishing Point: it is the source of all our knowledge of the true timeline. Only members of the Council are allowed in here. I made an exception for you.”

“Why are you showing me this?” Michael asked, “If this is such a big secret…why reveal it to a renegade Time Master?”

Zaman chuckled, placing a paternal hand on the boy’s back. “But you’re not,” he said, “A renegade. Not anymore. As for why: I thought that you of all people would appreciate the power that we have in our grasp. The potential that the Oculus gives us: far more than simply viewing the currents of time we can use it to manipulate the timestream. Ensure that the one true timeline is maintained at any cost.”

Michael pulled away from him abruptly: “I don’t-,” he said unsteadily, “I don’t believe that there is one true timeline. Time can be bent: I’ve seen it in hundreds of different ways. It can be reshaped and changed.”

“You’re questioning the central tenet of the Time Masters?” Zaman said, amusedly.

“Yes,” Michael said firmly gazing up at him, looking for all the world as if he were about to be struck down for blasphemy, or something as equally dramatic.

“I did as well when I was younger,” Zaman said, “In fact, I did for a very long while. I sought to change the timeline for the greater good. What did the old men in their towers know about the way the timestream worked? And I worked hard convince them. And then I saw the Oculus, and I knew that there is nothing more important than keeping to the one true timeline. The horrors that I saw, the might-have-beens and the never-weres and the almost-futures that the Time Masters averted…”

They still haunted his dreams, centuries later.

“Nice fairy tales,” said a voice behind them, and Zaman spun around to see one of the so-called Legends standing there, a gun trained on him.

“Ray?” Michael asked beside him, his voice very small, “Is that you? How, I- I thought you were dead,” he said.

“Hey Rip,” Ray said, hand never wavering, “Yeah, I told you that your plan sucked, but would you listen to us? I mean it worked, and that’s a miracle, but I think we might have to take another look at this masochistic streak you’ve got inside you, and you know. Stop it.”

“Rip?” Michael said, “Is. That’s who I was? Rip?”

Ray’s mouth tightened, eyes going hard. “Yeah,” he said, “Captain Rip Hunter. One of the bravest men that I know.”

Zaman rolled his eyes.

“Yes, thank you that Doctor Palmer,” he said, “You’ve just assured another round of reconditioning for poor Michael here. Declan is going to be insufferable. Now, please drop your weapon.”

Ray snorted. “Yeah not going to happen,” he said.

Zaman narrowed his eyes, ready to call down the security forces when-

-there was a shudder.

He stumbled as the ground beneath his feet became unsteady.

“What was that?” he demanded.

“That?” Ray asked lightly, “Oh, just the sounds of my associate Mr Rory’s explosives going off.”

There was a loud bang, and another shudder, this one stronger than before. Ray frowned.

“If I’m being honest,” he said, “I think he’s probably set off too many. But eh. At least we won’t have to worry about whether or not the Vanishing Point has completely destroyed. And he deserves a little stress relief, right? Nothing much to set fire to in space, and you guys did kidnap him.”

“There are thousands of Time Masters stationed here at any one time,” Zaman said, “You’d be responsible for their deaths?”

“Honestly?” Ray said, “The rest of the Legends have already evacuated the Academy. I’d be just as happy to let all of you guys burn. Luckily, I wasn’t the one who made the plan. And Rip still has a soft spot for you for some reason.”

Zaman opened his mouth to reply, but- A third BANG, and in his brief moment of distraction, Ray shot him.

#  
  


“Come on,” Ray said, rushing over to take Michael, no, Rip’s hand, “We have one more thing we have to do and then it’s time to get out of here.”

“What do you need me to do?” Rip asked. He didn’t quite know what was going on, and he rather resented the fact. Oh, he understood why he hadn’t been allowed to know, he was the one who had apparently come up with the plan in the first place after all, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to travel back in time and punch his younger self in the face. God. The sheer devastation that he had felt when he thought that the Legends had been killed, that Gideon had died, that his home had been destroyed… Well, he always knew that he was a bastard.

He swallowed, trying not to look at the crumpled body next to him. He hated the man, loathed him, but… that didn’t change the fact that Zaman Druce was one of the closest things to family that he had ever known. It didn’t change the years of trust and respect that he had in the man. There was no time to grieve, and he rather doubted that the Legends would understand when he did, but… He knew that there would be another figure haunting his nightmares when he finally got to sleep.

“We have to record a message,” Ray said, “Warning all Time Master ships to stay away from the Vanishing Point.”

“I presume that we’re transmitting it through time as well as space?” Rip asked, running behind Ray.

Ray grimaced: “Yeah, ten minutes into the past and, and you’re going to have to sit down and explain the physics of this to me after this is over because honestly? It shouldn’t be possible.”

“I’ll…try,” Rip said, squashing the instinctive response that had come to his lips: I can’t do that Doctor Palmer, that would put the timeline at risk. “Although Miranda was always better at temporal physics than I.”

Another explosion rocked the building.

“Seriously,” Ray said, “I know you can’t remember it at the moment, but what in God’s name possessed you to let Mick fabricate his own C4?”

“I’m sure that I had a good reason at the time,” Rip replied, although honestly, he had no idea why his other-self had thought it was a good idea. Guilt maybe?

“Well, here’s hoping that it doesn’t come back to bite us,” Ray said, and then pulled him into a secondary broadcasting chamber that was mercifully empty.

“I’ll get everything set up,” Ray said, “You record the message. Hurry: I don’t want to be here when the building comes down.”

“I assure you, neither do I,” Rip said testily, quickly finding the communication console and switching it on. He took a deep breath and looked into the blinking light.

“Fellow Time Masters,” he said with a calm that he did not feel, “My name is Captain Rip Hunter of the Waverider. And I’m afraid that you need to run as far away from the Vanishing Point as possible. Because in approximately ten minutes, it’s going to explode. I realise that these actions make me a traitor: I don’t care. Because I have not betrayed the Time Masters, no. The Time Masters have betrayed us.”

“Five more minutes, Rip!” Ray said, flinching back as something next to him sparked ominously.

Five minutes. How to explain a lifetime of betrayal and manipulation in five minutes? Well, he had to try. And looking back at the camera, Rip opened his mouth and spoke.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written all of the next two chapters, but I know where it's going so fingers crossed!  
> I am on Tumblr as [Nemainofthewater ](https://nemainofthewater.tumblr.com)


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